


Battle of the Heart

by writerwriting



Category: Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman
Genre: F/M, Johnny Cash character, June Carter character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 48,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerwriting/pseuds/writerwriting
Summary: What if Michaela hadn't really believed David was dead? Sister Ruth is a Confederate nurse, taking care of a wounded 'Andrew Strauss' and Kid Cole on her aunt and uncle's farm. Sully eventually enters the picture. As all their lives intersect, will they find peace and love in the midst of a terrible war? AU. 1862.





	1. Chapter 1

_September 2, 1862_

Sister Ruth grabbed onto the edge of her seat as they went over a rut in the road. She looked back in the wagon bed to see how their new patient had fared the bump.

The man was near her own age. He might have been handsome in a rugged sort of way if not for the pale sheen of sweat and the pained expression he wore. He released only a slight groan in his relative unconsciousness. He'd taken a hit to the side on one of the battle days and was fighting a fevered infection. She said a prayer for him, praying he would hold onto life.

She and her uncle had come for the express purpose of picking up this soldier from the field hospital, having unfortunately gotten a recent vacancy at the farm. Thousands had been wounded on the southern side alone and she wished they could have taken more.

Her aunt and uncle had been simple farmers before the war started and were still, but now their home served as a private hospital because of the bigness of their hearts. Their farm, which was not too far outside the city of Manassas, was now flooded with soldiers.

They drove near the field, which only a couple days ago had been the site of what had to be the bloodiest battle of the Civil War so far. The smell of death was everywhere as bloated bodies littered the ground.

"Uncle Hiram, stop!" she cried suddenly.

She saw a hand sticking out from under a collapsed tent. She was sure she'd seen it twitch. The Union Army had retreated, and the Confederate army had done come through, taking prisoners of war. This man had somehow been missed, or they'd considered him not worth taking. If he'd been capable of leaving, he would have by now.

"What?" he asked, having listened to her, despite not knowing what they were stopping for.

She jumped down and went over, pulling the tent off of the injured man. His wounds were terrible to see. He'd taken cannon fire to his face, his neck, to his legs. He was unconscious, but he was alive.

His uniform was blue with the silver initials MS sewn on. He was medical staff, and the tent had been a hospital tent. He'd come to save lives instead of take them, but it hadn't stopped him from being injured along with the soldiers who fought.

"Come help me put him in the wagon bed. There's room enough for two back there," she called out to her uncle.

"We don't have the time or resources to help the enemy," he said firmly. "Let's go."

"We can't just leave him. He'll die."

"What if when he wakes, he decides to murder us all?"

"Look at his injuries. He's not going to be doing anything for a long time."

"We've got a houseful of soldiers, who'll kill him then. You want that on your conscience?"

"You can loan him some clothes. They won't know."

"You've an answer for everything, but what about not having any room? You know as well as I do that we're using all the floor space we have. There ain't a square inch of space in the house or barn that isn't being occupied."

"Yes, there is. My room." Her room was small with barely enough space in it for a bed, but it was a room. She'd have to sleep elsewhere, but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

"And where will you sleep?"

"In the loft in the barn. None of the soldiers are fit to climb up it."

"But, Ruth, think of the indecency. There are at least a dozen men sleeping in the barn. Your aunt will have a fit."

"I'm a 55-year-old virgin. I've kept my virtue intact this long and most of the boys are young enough to be my sons. They'll only be thinking motherly thoughts towards me." He started to interrupt, but she pressed on, "I can hang a quilt to protect my privacy, and if it makes you and Aunt Margie feel better, I'll even sleep with a gun."

He was considering it. She could tell by the way he stroked his short, white beard.

"Think about this. What are you going to say on Judgment Day when you have to give an accounting? I left him to die because his uniform wasn't gray?"

That did it. He sighed and joined her on the ground, pausing only to swipe at the sweat under his hat. "I hope I don't live to regret this. Imagine. Quartering a Yankee."


	2. Chapter 2

Sister Ruth put down the older one's feet with a grunt, giving a prayer of thanks that her back hadn't gone out. And her uncle was a marvel, lifting his half of the man like he was nothing but a bale of hay, but working on a farm all your life was apt to make you strong.

The feverish Confederate soldier had gotten the empty straw mat in the barn. She wished there was a place for him in the house, but this time of year, the nights were cool, not too cold and not too hot. Circumstances could have been worse.

She went into the house to check on their other new patient. He lay in what had once been her private room. They'd covered him with a blanket to hide his uniform on the way in. She lowered it now for a closer look at his injuries.

His wounds were as bad as she'd remembered. A gaping hole where his eye should have been, a piece of shrapnel was lodged in his neck, and his legs had been badly hit. He might even lose the limbs like he'd lost his eye, assuming he didn't lose his life first.

"He needs a doctor," Margie said, a slight woman with steel gray hair that matched her steel gray eyes. She stood in the doorway, also taking stock of his injuries.

"No doubt and lots of prayer," Ruth responded. "You want to go for the doctor or you want me to?"

"You have more patience with the man than I do. You'd better go."

"He's not so bad. He just thinks all women are delicate flowers, waiting for a man to tell them what to do and needing to be protected from the harsh realities of life."

"Well, mountain women have never been like that. Maybe the women out here in eastern Virginia have." Though her aunt had lived near Manassas over 40 years, she still identified as a mountain lady. "'Course, maybe if you'd played the delicate female card for a little while, maybe you would've been able to grab yourself a man."

Ruth chuckled over the fact that Margie still fretted over her niece's marital status. It wasn't that she wouldn't have liked to have had a husband. It was just not the Lord's plan for her life. But she had found completeness and contentment without a man. That was a problem for a lot of women. They rushed into bad marriages like they were a half looking for a whole when the kind of oneness they wanted could only be found in the Creator. "Who knows? Maybe I'll pick me up a war veteran," she teased, "who's grateful for my loving, tender care."

"Oh, go on," Margie said with a chuckle of her own.

Turning serious, she said, "You might see that this one gets made more presentable before Doc shows up."

Her aunt nodded, understanding the need to change his clothes before the doctor or other men saw his union blue.

"I feel bad about leaving you to empty all the chamber pots when I know you've been working hard all morning. Sure you don't want to fetch the doctor yourself?"

"I'd rather empty chamber pots than deal with that odious man. Have you ate anything today?"

"Not since this morning. I'll grab something when I get back."

"I still don't know how you talked your uncle into giving up your room. I don't like it."

"No time to argue, Aunt Margie," she said, giving her a kiss to the cheek. "I'll be back directly."

She saddled up the pokey, old mare to ride into town. All the good horses had been given to the war effort. All things considered though, she made it to the doctor in good time.

He was as old as her aunt and uncle. He'd been retired until the war started. She had to give the man credit for coming out of retirement. He wore a perpetual frown of disapproval, however, and it was no different this time.

"We got a man bad off," she explained. "He needs surgery."

"A doctor now, are you? Just use the faith healing you're so famous for, Sister Ruth. Then everything will be okay."

"You know it don't work like that. Will you come help him?"

"I won't let a man suffer because a few women don't know their place. Let me get my bag."

Doc Anderson wrinkled his nose as he entered the house. It wasn't so much the smell as one walked inside though that was bad enough with all the sick, wounded men present. It was disgust at seeing Margie working as a nurse, changing a man's bandage.

She urged Doc Anderson on into the hallway and towards the Union soldier.

"What's this?" he asked before she could open the door.

She turned in time to see the contents of an overused chamber pot come splashing her way. The majority hit her apron though her skirt didn't remain untouched. It was one Margie had either missed or hadn't gotten around to emptying yet.

"This is why women aren't fit to be nurses. Their mind's on fripperies and trifles instead of on what matters."

The smell made her gag and threatened to make her empty her stomach of her nonexistent lunch. It was a mercy after all that she hadn't had time to eat. She fought the feeling down and looked him boldly in the eyes. If he'd wanted to see tears or any other sign of feminine weakness, he was going to be sorely disappointed. "Real gentlemanly of you, Doc. You know how to charm a lady."

He remained unapologetic as she slipped the dirty apron off. "What lady? I see no lady."

"Hey, you leave Sister Ruth be," one of the men threatened though he couldn't get up off the floor if he'd wanted to, having recently lost a leg. "She's a fine lady. And if I had the ability, I'd whip the tar out of you for soiling her clothes."

"I've had a male nurse," said another. "He was rough and unsympathetic. Give me a female nurse any day."

She smiled at both of her defenders, who laid on their beds of straw, smiling back. They were a credit to their gender unlike a certain man standing in front of her.

"Seems you have a following," the doctor said crossly.

In answer, she opened the door. She thought about getting a clean apron, but with the dress in need of being laundered now thanks to the good doctor, it seemed pointless.

She held the Union man's hand as the doctor examined him. The hand was smooth and so young, a whole life ahead of him. Did he have a sweetheart? A wife?

She assisted during the surgery despite the contention between them that mostly came from the doctor's side. Though she wasn't too happy with him herself after that stunt he pulled with the chamber pot. She handed him the proper tools and covered the surgery in prayer. The doctor couldn't waste precious anesthetics when the man was already unconscious, and she was afraid he was going to wake up the whole time, but he didn't.

The doctor gave her brief instructions on how to care for the man and then he was on his way. She tried to remember that he was likely overworked his own self and that a man who'd dedicate his life to saving other lives couldn't be all bad.

Her feet hurt, but she didn't dare take off her shoes. One never knew what a person might step in inside a house turned hospital. It was no wonder they hurt though. For the past few days, she hadn't been off her feet except when she slept a few short hours.

It was after dark. A whole day gone and she hadn't accomplished half of what she'd needed to. She took her nightgown out of the drawer and her only clean dress, which was her Sunday best, but it'd do until she found the time to do laundry.

She really should have gone straight up to the loft, but she had to see how their other new patient was, and it was on the way.

She felt his forehead. Still feverish.

"Momma?" he said in a croaky voice. It didn't matter, old or young, most cried out for their mother when they were near death or in the throes of a bad fever. Sometimes a wife but usually a mother.

And Sister Ruth oftentimes played the part. It would have been cruel not to. "I'm here. There's nothing to worry about. The Lord's watching over you."

Though she'd decided to forgo supper, being too tired and not having much appetite after the events of the day, she had stopped off in the kitchen for some tea. She lifted the mostly full cup to the man's parched lips, wondering if the men and women who were so gung-ho for war, would still be so if they saw the things she saw everyday. She doubted it.


	3. Chapter 3

Michaela was dead tired. She and her father had put in a hard day. Their patient load had increased ever so slightly due to wounded soldiers returned home and the doctors away, serving in the army.

She heard a carriage and hoped it wasn't company. She didn't feel up to socializing tonight. She looked out the window and saw that it was David's parents.

His mother had been crying from the look of her blotchy face, and she leaned into her husband as if she couldn't walk without his support. He looked as if he were barely keeping it together himself, his steps slow but determined. And she knew.

"Oh, God, no." Maybe he had just been captured or was only very sick. He couldn't be dead. Not her David.

She beat the servants to the door. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Her own parents had come into the room.

"Don't be rude, Michaela," her mother chastised. "Let them in first."

She noticed the telegram in Mr. Lewis' hand and resisted the urge to take it from him as they walked by.

Fortunately, he didn't keep her waiting once inside. "We just received this telegram from his commanding officer. He was killed at Bull Run. They're shipping his remains to us by train."

The world seemed to stand still for a few seconds. Then it felt as if her heart shattered into a million pieces. It couldn't be. Tears began to flow freely. "Please, can I read it?"

He willingly handed it over. But she couldn't get past "I regret to inform you." She eventually handed it back.

"Come in and sit down. I'll have Martha bring some tea," Elizabeth said, her voice now full of sympathy.

"Yes, please do," Josef said.

"How very kind, but we have things to attend to," Mr. Lewis said. "We just felt Michaela should know right away."

"He really loved you," Mrs. Lewis added.

"And I him," she managed though she was dying on the inside.

As soon as they had gone out the door, she ran up the stairs towards her room. Her parents called after her, but she was too upset to heed them. In the relative safety of her room, the silent tears gave way to weeping that included noise. Her parents had obviously decided to let her grieve in private because they didn't follow her, something she was grateful for.

When the sobbing subsided to a more manageable sorrowing, she clutched her engagement ring against her chest and prayed, "Lord, if I could just see him once more to say goodbye. To tell him how much I love him and how much he meant to me." But she knew her prayer was impossible.

sss

The service would be closed casket. It would also be at the church where they would have been married had he returned home. A fact that would make the day all the more painful.

She was past the crying stage. At least she thought so, but she felt so empty inside and that was worse. She wished it was her funeral they were having today. Two coffins, so they could have been united in death though the chance to be united in life had been stolen away by the Rebels.

"I have to go down to the church before the funeral starts. I have to see him," she announced, the words a surprise even to herself. She was ready to go, dressed from head to toe in black.

Her mother was giving the servants instructions for what to do about dinner, but her statement refocused her attention. "Really, Michaela. You can't be serious."

"I have to. I have to be sure...I know it is him with my head, but my heart doesn't want to believe. It wants to keep on hoping against hope."

"You don't want your last sight of him to be... unpleasant," she argued.

"No, if this is what she feels she needs to do to have closure, she should do it. I'll go with her." He generally gave his wife her way, but when it truly mattered, he wasn't afraid to go against her wishes. "We'll see you at the funeral in half an hour."

He kissed Elizabeth's cheek affectionately, and they were gone before she had a chance to think of a response.

Ten minutes later found them at the church in front of the prepared coffin. A small tintype of him in his uniform, looking so handsome, rested on top of the lid. It was just like the one he'd given her before he left.

"You don't have to do this, Mike. His commander already identified him," her father said gently as she gathered her nerve.

She hesitated. Maybe her mother was right. She'd seen dead bodies before. Cut them open even. They'd never been the man she loved though. 

No, she had to do this. She moved the picture out of the way and opened the lid.

His face was beyond recognition and she quickly looked away from the horror of it, pinning her gaze instead on the hand nearest her. The hand she'd held so many times, the hand she'd watched perform surgery with amazing, unrivaled skill.

But as she looked at it, completely whole unlike his face, she noticed something. Something that changed everything. It was missing a mole just under his thumb.

Hope surged within her. If this wasn't David, that meant there was a strong possibility he was alive. But he was such a faithful letter writer, why hadn't he wrote to let them know he was okay? He wasn't with his regiment. That much was certain or they wouldn't have sent back this poor man. So where was he?


	4. Chapter 4

David opened his eyes, or rather his eye. He placed a hand over the non-cooperating one and felt a bandage. Though he longed to take it off, he knew it would not improve his vision. He'd lost it to the cause. He withdrew his hand again and studied his surroundings.

The room he was in was small. On the shabby side, but it tried hard to be cheerful with the colorful quilt covering him, a little vase of flowers, and the pictures hanging on the walls.

A panic washed over him as he realized he didn't know where he was, and it grew as he remembered the last thing he did remember: being on the field, the cannon fire. Then the searing pain and the sureness he was going to die. Then nothing.

Before the panic turned into action, into moving from the unfamiliar bed, a woman burst into the room, shutting the door behind her. She was around the same age as his mother and the cheerfulness of her expression was like the room, trying hard but covering something up.

"Praise God, you're awake. Good morning. How you feeling? More than a mite poorly, I imagine. You'll feel better when you get some broth in you. It's just been started on, but you'll have the first bowl."

He opened his mouth to speak, to answer her and ask her questions, but the only thing that came out was air.

"The doctor said you might not be able to talk. You got hit in the voice box, but he said there's a could chance it could heal too. So try not to worry overmuch." She strangely enough glanced at his covered legs as she said that.

Except he did worry, not just about his voice but hers. She had a definite, unmistakable drawl, slow and thick. He'd been captured by the enemy.

Only that didn't seem quite right. He hadn't heard tell of a prison camp that would give you a bed and a lady to wait on you.

Some of his concern must have showed for she said, "You must be wondering where you're at. You're not far from Manassas on my aunt and uncle's farm. They still farm, but they've turned their home into a private hospital. You're safe here. You'll meet my aunt a little later. She's acting as a nurse, too." She leaned in and whispered the next part. "It could be a blessing from God you can't talk just yet in a house full of Confederate soldiers."

He started to ask if she knew he was a Union soldier and then remembered he couldn't speak. She must have though from her last comment. But then of course she must. He was no longer wearing his uniform, and she was probably the one to change him out of it. Why then was she being so kind to him?

She looked sympathetic to his problem despite what she'd said. "It must be frustrating not to get to say what you want to say. I'll see if I can't scrounge you up some paper and a pencil when I come back."

She opened the door to go, and he saw some of the Confederate soldiers she'd spoken of laying in the floor before she shut it and was gone. How long would it be before they figured it out? Before they finished him off or he was captured in the truest sense of the word?

The window. He could leave by the window. Escape into Washington.

Only his legs didn't move like they were told. He pulled back the quilt, and his doctor's eye saw that he was crippled.

He'd lost his eye, his voice, and the use of his legs. What more could this war take from him? He was afraid to ponder that question because he didn't think he'd like the answer.

sss

Sister Ruth hummed. She would have sang except she didn't want to wake the men who were sleeping. She had worried the Yankee wouldn't wake up. She'd have to find that paper and pencil, so she could find out his name and stop referring to him in her head as the Yankee.

She looked to her other unknown patient. She'd brought a bowl of cool water and a rag to help sooth his fever. She crouched down beside him and brought the wet cloth to his forehead. He stirred and his eyelids flickered, but he didn't call her momma this time. He just kind of moaned real pitiful like. She prayed for him as she prayed for all the men.

His eyes snapped open all of a sudden, and he looked straight at her. Did he see her? She didn't think so. It seemed instead he was looking right through her. They were nice eyes though. She'd heard it said eyes were the window to the soul and maybe that was true because she liked what she saw. "It's okay. You're safe in my family's barn."

She felt his brow. It didn't seem as hot as it had before. The worse might have been over. She'd seen the wound in his side earlier when she'd dressed it, however, and he still had some healing to do.

Both of the newest patients were awake and though far from well were on the road to recovery. It was nothing short of a miracle. "Thank you, Lord."


	5. Chapter 5

"Got you that pencil and paper. Bet you'd thought I'd forget, didn't you?" Sister Ruth asked as she came into the room after a quick knock. He didn't know why she bothered. David couldn't have told her not to come in if he'd wanted, and he didn't really think anything about whether she would forget it or not. He didn't know her well enough, but she acted as if she'd known him forever. Some people just didn't know the meaning of the word stranger, and it seemed she was one of them.

She handed him the paper and pencil first and then set his bowl of broth on the table beside him. "I didn't introduce myself before, did I? I'm Ruth McKenzie. Folks just call me Sister Ruth. What's your name?"

He hesitated a moment before writing 'David'. David was a common enough name. He didn't think he should give away too much personal information about himself to the enemy though.

"David?" she asked, waiting for him to write his last name.

He just pointed to it again.

She seemed to sense what he was about. "I'm not a spy, you know. But at least I got something I can call you now. Do you have a sweetheart or wife to write to, David? To let her know you're alright? I can get more paper. I take letters to the postmaster myself. I've never had one going up north before, but I think it's probably easier for letters to get through than people."

The shake of his head was quick in coming, quicker than the time it had taken her to say all that. Maybe there was yet hope that he would get better and that he would need only a wife, not a caretaker. Otherwise, he would have to consider breaking it off with Michaela because he wouldn't relegate a beautiful, talented woman like her to a life of caring for an invalid as much as it would kill him to do it.

"Parents then?"

He wrote his answer this time. 'They would worry. When my news is better, I'll write.'

She frowned. "If I had a son, I'd want him to write. Any news would be better than no news. But you must be hungry, so I ain't going to push it. You need me to feed you?"

'My hands still work,' he wrote before setting the paper and pencil down.

"Didn't say they didn't," she said with a smile of good humor as she adjusted the pillows so that he could sit up for he couldn't pull himself up without help. She also handed him the broth.

The spoon felt weighted not because he lacked the strength though he could tell he was weaker, perfectly natural given what he'd been through, but because he wondered if slave hands had prepared the soup. He and Michaela had boycotted goods made by slave labor, refusing sugar and the like. As hungry as he was, he couldn't stand to betray his principles now, not after he'd given so much. He couldn't participate in the sin of slavery in any capacity, his conscience wouldn't allow it.

She was eying him carefully to make sure he really was capable. She thought his hesitation over the quality rather than the source. "Aunt Margie is a first-rate cook. It's true food's kind of spread thin, but she does wonders with what we have."

His stomach rumbled and cried for food. Though he couldn't attest to every ingredient, at least it hadn't been cooked through slaves. He supposed that would have to do, and he brought the golden herbed liquid to his mouth. It was as good as she'd claimed though he imagined hunger helped it along.

"After you've eaten, it'll be time to change some of your bandages. I just thought you'd appreciate eating first. Eat slow. You don't want to rush it."

She was right, of course. It had been a few days since he'd eaten. He made an effort to slow down, which became easier as he went on since his arm got more and more tired.

sss

Laying on the floor, he had a good view of the rafters. He could hear and smell the sickness that surrounded him, sounds and scents that made his own stomach twist. He didn't remember much about how he'd gotten to this barn, but he did remember a woman with gentle hands and a kind voice.

"Well, you look like you're among the land of the living again. How you feel?" asked a woman as she got down on the floor beside him.

"Terrible." He looked up at her. This was the woman he sort of remembered, close to his age and pretty though weary-looking, which was no surprise considering the number of men she had to be taking care of.

"I don't wonder. Time to change your bandage," she announced, hands alighting on his brass buttons.

He squirmed and grabbed her hands, stopping them. "What are you doing?"

"I just told you. Changing your bandage. It's got to be changed regular or heaven forbid you'll be fighting a fever all over again."

"But you're a woman," he said more insistently.

"So I am," she said with a slight smile. "Don't worry. You can keep your britches on. You ain't the first man I've seen with his shirt off and you won't be the last."

"You ain't seen me, ma'am," he said, flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm afraid I have, brother. And there's no men available to nurse you at the moment, so I'm sorry to say you're stuck with me." She didn't seem the least bit embarrassed just matter-of-fact about it.

"I don't even know your name," he argued, his protest more weak than before.

"I apologize. I'm making it a habit of forgetting to introduce myself lately. It's Ruth McKenzie or just Sister Ruth. What's yours?"

"Kid. Kid Cole."

"The famous gunslinger?"

"Even in Virginia folks know my name?" He couldn't believe it.

"I don't know, but I've lived out west for more years than I've lived in Virginia now. I only came back when the war started to help my aunt and uncle. They volunteered to offer their home up as a private hospital and I knew they'd need help."

"Wait. Sister Ruth? Don't you do some kind of revival circuit?"

She beamed. "You been to one?"

"No, but I've heard of it."

"Oh, well, small world, ain't it? Now I really have to change that bandage. I ain't even handed out all the broth yet."

He had no choice but to relent. He tried to think of something else to take his mind off the fact that an attractive woman was unbuttoning his shirt. He'd heard soldiers arguing women shouldn't be nurses. He'd never really had an opinion on it before now, but now he was entirely against it. It was much too discomforting.

"You know you're fortunate. Not everyone survives a wound where you got it. Can't cut away at it like you can a limb. It looks much better than it did at the first. You're very blessed."

He let out a dry laugh. "If I was blessed, I wouldn't have-" before he could finish his sentence, he let out a yelp of pain. "Ahh, what are you doing? That burns like hades."

"Nothing burns like hades but hell itself. It's whiskey. It cleans away the pus so I can get a new bandage on and improves the smell. Not that liquor smells all that great, but your wound smells worse."

Now he was just annoyed, having a pretty woman tell him he stunk. Her fingers couldn't help brushing against his skin as she put on a fresh and wet bandage, making him visibly shudder.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, full of concern.

"No, ma'am, but you shouldn't be doing this. Handing out soup's one thing. This is something else. You need a male nurse around here."

His tone had been gruff, but she smiled back. "I'll take it then that you want to be a volunteer just as soon as you're able, which shouldn't be much longer."

That crafty woman. Had she just tricked him into helping out? What could he say? He had been complaining, and she'd made him the solution. She wasn't gloating though. Instead, she'd bowed her head, closed her eyed, and was moving her lips. "What are you doing now?"

"Why praying, brother," she said, looking up in surprise. "That you heal quickly."

"Don't call me brother. I told you my name's Kid."

"Well, Kid, then. You need me to write to a wife for you later?"

"No."

She reached around to the tray behind her that had both the medical supplies on it and his lunch.

"Got some broth for you. You up to feeding yourself?"

"Yes'm," he answered, breaking into a sweat by the exertion of sitting up, caused in part from the fever and in part by the pain in his side.

She'd set the bowl down beside him and he went to lift the spoon, but it dropped back down into his bowl with a splash. He felt the heat of embarrassment rising off him once again. He was as weak as a newborn kitten.

"No shame in accepting help," she said softly. "We all need it from time to time." She took a spoonful and blew on it before bringing it to his lips.

He opened his mouth and accepted. It was humiliating having to be spoon-fed, but her smile was warm and her conversation flowed freely, taking his mind off of it. Maybe a woman nurse wasn't so bad after all.


	6. Chapter 6

No one had believed Michaela, except for her father, and the funeral had went on as planned. She'd stayed out of respect to David's parents. Even shed tears as they spoke of his life. For it was still very possible that he was just as gone as the man in the casket.

She'd been the first one there and now she was the last to leave. She was still standing at his graveside, her father waiting patiently at the edge of the cemetery.

The headstone sparkled with newness unlike some of the more worn ones that surrounded it. "SON" was emblazoned at the top. "Union Soldier" was just underneath that. Then it was just his name and the day he was born and the day he allegedly died. So much more people should know about David, so little room.

How awful that the family of the person really buried here would never know for sure whether he was dead or alive. They would suspect he'd died after awhile, hoped he hadn't deserted the army and them, but they would never have the closure that came with a body. He would just be missing. That's why she had to find David one way or another to escape the same fate. She had to at least try.

Some of the bells in the graveyard made a little noise as a strong wind burst through. The bells were for the deceased who had feared the possibility of being buried alive or perhaps their loved ones had feared it. The string to their bell was connected down through the ground and through their coffin to their fingers, so that it could be rung if needed. This man had had nothing to fear in that regard; he wouldn't be waking up until resurrection day. It would have been silly if he'd been given one.

Had it only been a year ago that he'd been attending Yale while she waited anxiously for his return, working her first year out of school with her father? Since meeting two years ago, they'd been inseparable: attending lectures, discussing medicine, and just enjoying being together.

She remembered the day he'd told them he was signing up like it was yesterday. She'd felt sad and proud all at once as she admired how handsome he looked in his uniform. She had begged him to marry her before he left, but he refused to leave her a war widow, to allow the possibility of a child being fatherless. He was ever noble, ever thinking of others, and she loved him for it as frustrating as it could be at times.

"I've got to find him," she said as she rejoined her father.

He sighed, but he didn't looked very surprised. "I thought you might say something like that, Mike. I can't go with you, you know."

"I don't need you to. I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."

"I know you are, but you're also my daughter, and you'll be entering a war zone. Your mother's not going to like this one little bit, and I'm not sure I do either."

"I won't be gone long. You won't even have time to miss me."

"I doubt that. I miss you already," he said, putting an arm around her.

sss

Michaela wore her brightly colored traveling clothes as she stood on the platform saying goodbye to her parents.

"You need to go buy mourning clothes. You should be in black at least six months for a fiancé," her mother reminded her, ever a keeper of the rules of society. "Perhaps less if you find someone else."

Michaela couldn't even begin to respond to the last comment, not without getting angry and upset. "If he was dead, I would. But I won't wear black when I'm not sure that he is." And it was a moot point when they were seeing her off anyway.

"Then why hasn't he written?" her mother pointed out. "You're risking life and limb for a fool's chase. I'm not saying it was David we buried, but what hope do you have of recovering a body that you have little to no chance of finding? Do you know how many the papers are saying died there? Not to mention the injured. A fool's chase, Michaela, that's what it is."

"Then I'm a fool. Just imagine I'm going to Pennsylvania again. It's not all that many miles apart. One state down, that's all."

"It is not like going to Pennsylvania," her father corrected. "The two states couldn't be more dissimilar. Completely different worlds and now countries. One's the United States and one's the Confederate States. You must promise to constantly be on your guard and get in and out as fast as you can."

"I will," she said as she kissed and hugged her father goodbye.

Her mother's face was tight, but it was tight with worry rather than the usual disapproval, and Michaela hugged and kissed her as well.

The conductor called all aboard, and with a last goodbye, she took a seat in one of the first-class passenger cars.

A few train and carriage rides later found her in the famed Harper's Ferry in the newly formed state of West Virginia. These people sounded southern but were loyal to the Union, at least the ones who didn't slip into Virginia to join the Confederate Army were.

She couldn't continue her journey across the boarder until she got a pass. She was soon sitting in the office of the provest-marshal. He was a military officer whose duties were many, including issuing passes across the Mason-Dixon line.

"How can I help you, miss?" he asked. He was a trim man closer to her father's age than hers. He looked tired.

"I need a travel pass to Virginia. To the site of Bull Run specifically."

"Reason?" he asked barely even looking at her, focusing instead on sorting through papers. He must have been receiving a lot such requests for his tone sounded uninterested.

"The wrong remains were sent to us. I'm looking to collect my fiancé's body." She didn't add that she felt he might still be alive. She doubted it would help her case though she held onto the hope that he was. Thinking only of the alternative would send her deep into despair and grief again, a place she didn't want to revisit.

She was required to write and recite an oath, which she gladly did. Both because she agreed with the words and because she would do anything to get to David.

"I, Michaela Quinn of Boston, state of Massachusetts, make an oath on the Holy Evangely of Almighty God, that I will bear true allegiance to the United States of America and support and sustain the constitution and laws thereof. That I will abide by and maintain the laws of the Government of the United States as at present constituted by whomsoever administers. That I will discourage and forever oppose secession, rebellion and the disintegration of the Federal union; that I disclaim and denounce all faith and fellowship with the so-called Confederate armies, and pledge my honor, my property and my life to the sacred performance of this, my solemn oath of allegiance to the Government of the United States of America. And that I do this with a full determination, pledge and purpose, without any mental reservation or evasion whatsoever. So help me God."

At the bottom of the paper, was written:

"Sworn and subscribed  
Before me this 9th day of September 1862  
A D. Pratt  
Captain and Provost Marshal"

She had also brought along a character reference from her minister, having been told she might need one by a widow in their church, who'd had trouble getting across to retrieve her husband's body for lack of one.

He was in the middle of reading it when there was a knock on the door.

A soldier closer to her age poked his head in after getting the okay. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's some trouble taking place that needs your attention. A small group of rioters are making threats."

He frowned but didn't seem all that shocked. He must have been expecting it or it was a regular occurrence. "We're done in here, Miss Quinn," he said, handing her the coveted pass.

She was able to relax just a bit on her ride into Virginia, having overcome that hurdle. Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought. She could pray so anyway, and she did.

She studied the scenery out her window. The rolling pastures were dotted with cows of every color that cows came in and the views were breath-taking due to the high altitudes. She could see why people found charm in living in the country with such beautiful scenery.

The smell of dye permeated the air in one town they stopped in, a testament to the many lives claimed as most just dyed the clothes they already had black, not able to purchase ready-made clothes or fabric at the store because of a lack of funds. When would all the killing stop? It was supposed to be a short war. It had been promised that the war wouldn't last past the first battle. No one had counted on the south fighting as hard and well as they had. But surely, it had to end soon.

She finally arrived at Manassas Junction, which was just that, a junction, the start of a railroad. She had to ride out to a plantation called Tudor Hall, where a village store for the surrounding area was housed.

She barely glanced at the products on the shelves as she made her way towards the post master she'd seen in the back behind his little counter. He would know the area. Be able to tell her where the injured were.

"Can I help you?" he asked, looking pleasant and friendly enough despite the untamed beard he wore.

"Yes, you may. I want to know where the wounded are sent. I have reason to believe my fiancé may be among them. He fought in the Second Battle of Bull Run." If her accent hadn't marked her a Unionist, calling it the Second Battle of Bull Run rather than Second Battle of Manassas would have. She noticed his demeanor get less friendly. She'd noticed a cooling from more than one since coming into Virginia though some hid it better than others. Reasonable considering they were at war but saddening. Hadn't they all been born Americans?

"I wouldn't know. The men went everywhere, and if you're looking a Yankee, chances are he'd already been taken to a prison camp if he didn't escape with his regiment. Or he's counted among the dead. Sorry to be blunt but war ain't no picnic as much as some might have thought it was."

"He's not with his regiment. Please, someone must know something. A place I can begin, what prison camps might they have been taken to. Please. You have to know what it's like to be in love. I need to find out what happened to him."

He seemed to take pity on her with that impassioned plea. "I'm not promising anything, but there is someone who might know something. She talks to everyone it seems and fishes information out of a body before they know they're giving it. I speak from personal experience. Chances are she might have heard something about where they were sending captured soldiers from one of the soldiers she cares for."

"That sounds hopeful. Thank you. What's her name?"

"Sister Ruth McKenzie."


	7. Chapter 7

Kid opened his eyes to the sight of Sister Ruth on her hands and knees scrubbing. The man beside him had bled onto the floor during the night. He'd had his wound restitched by the older woman, the farmer's wife, and was resting comfortably. Ruth was scouring the stain with all her might as it had already dried.

"Don't you do enough without cleaning up every little spill?" he asked. "What's a little blood or waste on a barn floor. There's straw enough to soak most of it up and cover what's left."

"Don't a body feel better in clean surroundings? In clean clothes and sheets? I aim to give as much comfort as I can. And I can't abide filth," she answered without ceasing her task.

"A little dirt never hurt anybody."

"It never did anybody any good either." She stopped and cast a smile his way. "How's my favorite patient today?"

He blushed like a schoolgirl. Why was that a common occurrence around this woman? "Better. I feel my strength gradually returning."

She looked pleased. "Good. You'll be up on your feet before you know it. Did Aunt Margie change your dressing?"

"Yes, ma'am. I believe she hit everybody in here." And he was thankful for that. He'd felt much less embarrassed with the aunt.

"I'm going to post some letters tomorrow. Want to send any out?"

He could write to his sister and would, but she could wait until he felt more rested. They weren't particularly close, at least not since they'd been children. "Not today, Sister Ruth."

"Okay then." She reached out to take and squeeze his hand affectionately. His heart beat erratically at the contact. He was glad she wasn't trying to take his pulse, who knows what kind of reading she would have gotten. She was just a touchy kind of woman, he knew. He'd seen her give one man a hug yesterday for being able to stand on his own. He told himself the touch she gave him didn't mean anything special. "I pray for you every chance I get."

He mumbled a thank you as he watched her leave the barn. Then he looked over at the now clean patch of floor. A woman like her would expect a man whose soul was as clean as that patch. And the fact that he was even entertaining thoughts of such a religious woman proved the fever had affected his brain. He needed to concentrate on getting better and getting out of here.

sss

"It's plumb gone," her aunt complained as she came into the kitchen.

"What's gone?"

"My ladle. Somebody took it."

"I'm not sure what anyone would want with a wooden ladle. It's not like it had any monetary value. If it was made of silver or something-"

"The doctor came by, didn't he? I wouldn't put it past him to take it just for meanness."

"He came to remove one of the boys' arm. I don't think he came near the kitchen. Probably just got misplaced. In the meantime, the pot's big enough to dip the bowls into."

She grumbled irritably as she dried the last of the wooden bowls and Ruth hid a smile. Her aunt wasn't normally irritable; it was the lack of sleep.

"There's a bundle of wood needing taken care of," Hiram said from the doorway leading outside. He was wiping his muddy boots off on the rug before he came in. It was twilight. It'd be total darkness in just a few minutes.

She was no spring chicken, and she felt dead on her feet, but she was younger than her aunt and uncle, who'd both been working just as hard as she had. "I'll take care of it. Ya'll go on to bed."

They started to protest, kind people that they were, but she didn't give them the opportunity. She grabbed the food sitting on the corner of the table and a candle. Then took off to the wooded area behind the house.

When she reached the hollowed oak tree, she took her foot and moved the carefully placed leaves that hid the trap door that was positioned just out in front of it. What used to be an old cellar before the original house had burned down, now had a more special purpose. When the door was in place again, she only then lit the candle.

The light grew and revealed a young, dark slave woman with a very obvious rounded belly.

"Oh, goodness me, child. You're about to have a blessed event."

She nodded. "I've been having pains the past few days, missus, but I'll be fine. I'm almost in Canaan."

"I'm not so sure. Without a babe in your arms, I mean," she quickly corrected when she saw her distressed look. "You should stay here until after it comes. And please, just call me Sister Ruth. What's your name?"

"But-"

"You have one station to go to before you're safe, but it's a two-day journey, and I've got a feeling you're about to go into labor. If you're in the back of a wagon, giving birth, honey, it ain't going to be safe for you, the baby, or the conductor. You need to have it before you go on."

She didn't argue, but Ruth could see the worry reflected in her expression even in the dim lighting, and at last, the young woman asked timidly, "Is it true you have a houseful of gray coats?"

"Yeah, but they're too sick to be worried about escaped slaves. You'll have to lay low, but I'm sure that ain't nothing new for you. Believe me, you couldn't have a better cover. Who would think that a farm turned into a private, Confederate hospital was also part of the 'gospel' train? Nobody."

She handed her the meal and candle and matches. "So you can see to eat or for anything else you might need to see to, but don't leave it burning long."

"No, missus...uh, Sister Ruth. My name's Winny."

"I'll check on you again just as soon as I can get away unnoticed. I'll bring some things you might need for the delivery."

Tears fell from Winny's eyes. "I was hoping my baby would be born into freedom."

She squatted down to hug the young woman, but the young woman looked frightened by her closeness, so she gently patted her arm instead. "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there's freedom. That's not just my words, that's a promise straight from scripture. Men can enslave the body but never the soul."

Despite her words of comfort, Ruth wondered on the way back to the house how they were going to keep a crying babe a secret with so many people around, but if it had been possible to keep the slave baby, Moses, hidden for so long, surely it would be possible with this present day slave baby. "Lord, help us. Close up eyes and ears where these two souls are concerned. Keep us all safe. Make the road to their earthly freedom straight and quick."


	8. Chapter 8

David doodled a flower on his writing paper and then studied his rendition of a daisy. It wasn't very good, any child could have probably done better, but what else did he have to do lying uselessly in bed minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day? So he doodled another in the other corner. He was so involved in his attempt at art, he didn't notice Sister Ruth had come into the room until she spoke.

"I can get you a real flower, so you have something to look at while you're drawing. I don't have an artist's eye or hand myself, but it can be a fun way to pass some time and so much easier when you have a model."

He flushed. He hadn't wanted anyone to see his pitiful efforts, but she'd seen it now, so he nodded.

She was her usual cheerful, chattering self as she went about changing his bandages as gently as possible. He was still in a lot of pain, his legs mostly and his throat when he forgot he couldn't talk. Still, he couldn't help notice the way she would look towards the window in a fretful manner.

"You're a doctor, right?" she asked.

He nodded.

"A woman can give birth on her own for the most part, can't she?"

What a strange question to ask in a houseful of men. Surely she was past her childbearing years in her late 50s or early 60s, not impossible though. Her aunt certainly was. He scratched his answer out with the pencil and paper. "Unless complications."

"I thought so," she said. There was a look of worry before she replaced it with a smile.

She was plumping his pillow and adjusting his limbs, so he didn't develop sores from being in the same position when Margie entered in after a quick knock.

"Mrs. Fields sent her slave to help us as she's going to be out visiting for the afternoon. I'm working on dinner. I figured you could use help with the men and tell her what needs doing better than I could. Let me know if any of them are rude to her though, and I'll switch places with her."

"How very kind of Mrs. Fields. And needed as I promised the men I'd run their letters to the post. I'll be right out to talk to her. I'm about finished in here." Door closed again, she turned to him. "An answer to a prayer." Then looking upward, she added. "Thank you, Lord Jesus, for the help."

Anger burned in David's chest. How could this woman claim to know God and be on the side of the south? To think slavery was an answer to a prayer. It was unconscionable.

She proved herself an astute reader of emotion, not that he'd bothered to hide his anger, because she answered his unspoken thoughts. "It's a neighbor helping a neighbor. I know Sister Fannie quite well, and whether her mistress gave her permission or not, she'd want to be here helping. I know that might seem strange to you, but it's true."

"And dare a slave protest if she felt differently?" David wrote.

"She grew up with Mrs. Fields. They're like sisters. She gives her opinions to Mrs. Fields daily unless they're in public. If this war frees her, I guarantee you, she'll be at that house until the day Mrs. Fields dies or she does, whoever the good Lord takes first."

"Slavery is evil. You can never justify it," he wrote, tearing a hole in the paper due to the furious movements of his pencil.

"I wasn't trying. Simply telling you that you can't claim to know the heart and mind of a woman you've never met simply because she's a slave. That's arrogance, brother." She paused a moment to let him soak that in and then she added, "The doctor comes by occasionally to check on you, and if he saw those last few lines, he'd know where your sympathies lay. I'd scratch them out and try to keep your sentiments to yourself in the future. 'There's a time to be silent and a time to speak.'"

David wondered at her words after she left. Was it arrogance to think he spoke for every slave? Maybe, but Miss Fannie should have never been a slave in the first place. And he'd say it again, slavery was evil. Then he remembered Sister Ruth hadn't said that slavery wasn't evil. What then was she doing supporting the southern side? No, her actions spoke to her sympathies as it did for every gray coat lying out there wounded.

And his anger burned bright again against Sister Ruth and her family and every rebel beyond his door. He'd thought himself an easygoing man before he enlisted though passionate about what he believed, but at present, he hated them. And if that was a sin, so be it. It was because of them he was like this. And he was one of the lucky. Many more were dead. It was because of them he couldn't be with his own family. With Michaela.

sss

"Hello, Brother Abel. Got a handful to deliver today," Sister Ruth said, handing the passel of letters over to him.

"There's a lady that's been waiting to see you. Been sitting over there for hours," he said, gesturing towards her with his head.

"You should've sent her on over to the house."

He whispered, "I didn't want her disturbing the men. She's not from around here."

Which she knew meant she was from the north. "Oh? What does she want with me?"

"Looking for a dead or wounded fiancé. I know you wouldn't know nothing, but I had to toss her a bone to get her off my back. Talk to her and make her happy, so she'll go."

"Why surely." The woman was young, late 20s from the look of it, though her journey and anxiousness made her look haggard. She asked her as she approached, "Can I help you, sister?"

"You're Sister Ruth?" she returned, full of hope.

"I am. And you're the young lady looking to talk to me? The postmaster didn't tell me your name."

"Michaela Quinn. I'm looking for my fiancé," she said as she stood up from her seat. "His name is David Lewis."

Might their Davids be one and the same? A lot of men were named David. It was a long shot, but...

Ruth looked out of the corner of her eye towards Abel. It was as she figured, he was hanging on every word spoken. Sometimes she thought the only reason he became a postmaster was to keep abreast of local news. She wondered if he held letters to the light when folks weren't looking. He was the nosiest man she'd ever met. If she asked Michaela to step out of his hearing, he would get suspicious and that was the last thing needed with the contraband visitors at her aunt and uncle's farm. "He fights for the Union?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, but all the men on our farm are Confederate. He wouldn't be among the soldiers in my care."

"I tried to tell her," Abel spoke up, ears like a bat. "But I thought one of the boys might have said something to you that could give her a clue to his whereabouts."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything though I could ask," Ruth said to Michaela rather than Abel. "They're either with their troops or they're in prison camps as far as I know. You're not going to find him in the local hospitals. My advice is go home and wait for word."

"I can't. The waiting would be unbearable," she said, eyes shimmering.

"I wish I could help. I'm fixing to go gather some leaves from the birch tree before there ain't any left, but I'll keep my ears open." At her look of confusion, she explained,  
"We don't have much access to morphine or opium, and the leaves makes a great tea for pain."

"It really helps?"

"The men seem to think so. Not as powerful as morphine or opium, but it beats nothing. My own grandmother used it to treat her arthritis."

"I must make a note of that. That would be an article worth publishing in a medical journal."

She cocked her head in study of the young woman. What she had assumed to be a personal bag looked like a doctor's bag. "You're a doctor?"

"Yes," she said, bracing herself for the usual disparaging comments she received at giving this information.

"I'm a healer my own self, but a doctor? How about that!" Both women ignored the scoff coming from the corner. "My family and I sure would appreciate you looking at some of the men. We could use the help." It wasn't a lie about needing a helping hand though for emergencies that required a doctor there was always Dr. Anderson, but her true motivation was to tell her about the one patient that wasn't Confederate.

"I'm afraid that would be disloyal to country, and I just took an oath promising I wouldn't be. I couldn't heal the enemy, so they can go out and shoot more of our men. Possibly even my fiancé. I'm sorry."

"Well, I understand that, sister. I also ask you to remember the story of the Samaritan traveler. The Jews and Samaritans were enemies, but the Samaritan chose a higher law. He chose to love his neighbor."

"They weren't at war," she pointed out.

"True enough. Well, if you change your mind-" she began, starting to give her directions to the farm.

"I won't," she interrupted, her tone polite but firm.

Sister Ruth sighed. She'd have to figure out how to get the young lady to the farm another way, assuming she stayed in the area long enough.


	9. Chapter 9

"You ain't got the sense God gave a horse. None of you people do. Who told you that you could dress these men's wounds?" Doc Anderson was angrily demanding of Fannie.

Fannie's eyes were cast down to the floor though Kid had caught them flashing with anger before she'd quickly took on a humble appearance. "Missus McKenzie told me, sir."

"She would, dim-witted woman. Well, I'm telling you not to put your filthy hands on any of the patients. Got enough disease in here as it is."

Sister Ruth had walked in on that last part and had heard enough. "How dare you, Doc? You get your joy by trying to make others miserable? I'll just trust that you're tired and don't half know what you're saying, but either way, I think you owe my sister an apology."

"The day I apologize to a negro woman is the day when dogs bark with their tails."

Sister Ruth's face burned with anger. She hated rudeness in general, but while she could tolerate it somewhat when the darts were aimed at her, she wouldn't stand for someone being unkind to another. "You're welcome to stay, but if you do, I expect you to act like a gentleman."

"Who will care for your patients if I go?"

"The Lord will provide someone. After all, it's He and not you who holds a man's life in His hands."

"And I suppose it's He who performs the surgeries? You've had an unusually high rate of survival here, I'll grant you, but without me, it's going to drop to an unusually low number. Now, I insist you keep that negress away from the men."

"Must I remind you, brother, that this is a private hospital, a home? You ain't got no authority in here as much as you might wish you did."

"She can be excused for her stupidity given her race. You, on the other hand, should know better. They carry disease, you idiotic female. Now get that smoked Irishwoman out of my sight before I really lose my temper and someone is horsewhipped, and right now, I don't care if that person is her or you."

Kid made an effort to get up from his bed to defend the women but groaned at the sharp pain in his side.

Sister Ruth seemed to have it well in hand though, as her fists planted on her side and her voice and color raised a notch or two. "You are the most close-minded, orneriest doctor on God's green earth. If healing is coming, whether it's from a man or a woman, white or black, it's the Lord working through that healer. And you ain't got the right to say differently or call what is good, evil. And you'd better keep a civil tongue in your head if you're going to keep on coming here."

"Well, don't expect me to come running the next time one of your patient's in need of treatment if you're going to ignore my advice." He stormed out, forgetting his medical bag.

Ruth figured Dr. Anderson had a special burr under his saddle when it came to seeing Fannie and her suspect heritage because she was proof that people were just people. If God hadn't wanted races intermixing, he wouldn't have given them the ability. They were all souls uniquely designed and to call one color superior to another was blasphemy. A criticism of the creation was a criticism of the Creator.

Sister Ruth raised her eyes heavenward and asked, "When will we see souls as souls and not the packaging they come in?" She looked down at Kid, who was laying at her feet. "I suppose I shouldn't have called him names though. Wasn't very Christian-like of me."

"I was beginning to think you were an angel, incapable of doing wrong or getting angry," he teased.

She chuckled. "I've been known to get my dander up a time or two, and I've done plenty of wrong."

She wasn't self-righteous like some Christians he knew. He admired her more all the time. He liked her so much it was beginning to hurt.

"I heard you groan. I got the leaves I was after. Aunt Margie is going to make some tea out of it, and then I'll bring you some."

His side did still hurt from trying to get up. It burned like fire. Even so, he told her, "You shouldn't have gone to any trouble."

"It weren't no trouble. Had to be out anyway. I need to take them to the kitchen, so she can get started. Fannie, you want to come with me? You can help with the tea."

The men who were able began talking about the incident just as soon as they'd left, but his thoughts were elsewhere, wandering in the realm of impossibility.

sss

"I've brought reinforcements," Sister Ruth said before he saw her. Her voice always seemed to proceed her physical presence.

He turned his head to see the reinforcement she'd spoke of. It was an older woman with curly, red hair, freckles, and deep blue eyes. Sister Ruth carried a pitcher and the other carried cups. Sister Ruth took one and poured some steaming liquid into one of the cups.

"This is Fannie, if you hadn't guessed, the lady you heard was coming to help for the afternoon."

He'd thought she was a white friend of Sister Ruth's. She was paler than the evangelist and that was saying something. If she wanted to escape, she'd have had an easy time of it.

"Pleased to meet you," Fannie said. In a whisper, she added, "Sister Ruth told me what side you're fighting for. I was blessed in that I belong to a kind person, who would give me my freedom if I asked for it, but her mother hated me and made life miserable for me. I think she knew that I might be her husband's child though my mother wasn't much darker than me. I just want to say I admire what you're doing, and I respect your motivation."

David cast a triumphant look towards Sister Ruth. He'd known it wasn't possible for a slave to support slavery. Be used to it and like their owner maybe, but it still wasn't right.

She looked back at him placidly, which annoyed him.

Fannie went on, "Don't think I don't have sympathy with some of the Southern boys. Most of them only want to defend their home; they don't care about the politics of the thing. And I don't believe all the Northern boys have pure motives. I've ran into a few of them and a couple weren't exactly polite. There's good and evil people of every color and every region, and don't you forget it."

He blushed as he glanced at Sister Ruth. Wasn't this woman he'd been looking down on, hiding him when she could've turned him over? Fannie was absolutely right about that.

The conversation took a sudden, unexpected turn. "You wouldn't happen to know a Dr. Michaela Quinn, would you?" Sister Ruth asked, eyes on him rather sharply.

His eye went wide and his mouth dropped in a telling way, but he wrote. "No, why?"

"No reason. Just that this lady doctor has come all the way to Virginia, a dangerous place to be right now, to search for her fiancé, and a man'd have to be a fool to let a gal like that go."

"What if he was just trying to protect her?" he wrote.

"Women don't always need protecting. They're stronger than you think, and when people decide they're going to marry, they should be able to tell each other anything. And if it were me, I'd be awful upset that the man I loved would think I wouldn't stand by him because his health took a turn for the worse."

"It's not you." he wrote back.

"Yep, he's a fool alright," Fannie muttered as they left to pass out more tea.


	10. Chapter 10

Ruth stretched lazily and then saw that the sun was already up. She'd slept right through breakfast from the look of the sun's position.

As she threw on her clothes, she thought about last night. She'd almost fallen asleep on the ladder. About halfway up, she'd laid her head on one of the rungs, thinking only to take a few seconds to collect her strength, but not all the men had been asleep, and the next thing she knew, Kid Cole was calling her name. She'd been embarrassed for dozing for those few seconds and also because from his spot on the floor, he'd probably had a good view of her ankles. She'd laughed it off though and joked how she was going to sleep in tomorrow. Apparently, it hadn't been as much of a joke as she'd thought.

She was surprised to find most of the men working on their breakfast, the ones that could feed themselves. She soon saw why. Kid Cole was up on his feet handing out bowls of mush.

"Why are you standing up?" she demanded, marching over to him. She was taken aback for a moment because he was taller than she'd expected, but she soon recovered her voice. "Who said you were well enough to be up and about?"

"I did. That tea fixed me right up, and you said you wanted me to help, didn't you?"

She knew that was the plan, but she couldn't help think he'd been pushed into it prematurely by witnessing how tired she'd been last night. "Well, yeah. I reckon I did. How you feel?"

"I told you. Just fine." A smile tugged at his lips. "Now you ready to start bossing me around? I know that's just what you're dying to do."

She smiled back. She supposed she was a little bossy, but a lot of those men needed it, and she wasn't often afforded the time for politeness lately. She couldn't deny needing his help, and he did have his color back. "Alright, but the minute you start feeling poorly or get the slightest twinge, you're going to go lay down."

"Yes, Momma."

She looked at him, worry brimming up. Was the fever back? Did he think she was his mother again, but his dark eyes were laughing at her. He was only teasing. She chuckled. "Well, get busy then, son. We got hungry men to feed."

sss

Sister Ruth had brought the promised flower. He was no artist, but she'd been right about having a model. His drawing looked ten times better than it had before. Something about the beauty of the bloom soothed him. Nature was so much kinder than men were. He was actually finding a little joy from what had only begun as a way to pass the time away.

"Not bad," said a deep and unfamiliar voice.

He was wearing his gray uniform, a Confederate soldier. Had Sister Ruth let him in here? What was she thinking? What if he asked questions he couldn't answer like where he was from? Which regiment was he in?

He'd brought him a bowl of mush. "I'm Kid Cole. I'm helping Sister Ruth for the time being. Though I suppose I'll be joining my regiment again soon. You need help sitting up?"

He nodded, embarrassed about his need. He expected to be roughly propped up, but Kid was surprisingly gentle for a man. He couldn't help remember Fannie saying how some Southern men only wanted to defend their home. Before she'd told him that, he would've thought Kid was serving to keep the blacks in bondage, but now he wasn't so sure, so he asked, "Why did you sign up?"

If he was surprised that he was writing instead of talking, he didn't say. "My nephew was conscripted. He's only in his twenties with a wife and child. I'm unattached. Why should he go and die when I could take his place, so I did."

He never would've guessed that a Rebel could have had a noble reason for serving, but that didn't change the fact that it all boiled down to one side was fighting to keep slaves and one side was fighting to emancipate them. He was taking a huge risk, but he wrote, "Do you ever wonder why we're fighting to keep blacks in chains?"

"No. That ain't why I'm fighting. I think it's a shame our economy's so dependent on them. So many women and children are suffering because men, politicians, have decided to take up arms. I wish the Yankees would just surrender and go home. Let us work out our own problems. Sounds kind of strange coming from a gunslinger turned soldier, I imagine, but I guess I'm just sick of living by the gun."

"They won't surrender. Not until they've won. Do you have slaves?"

"Nope. Do you?"

He shook his head.

Kid appeared to hesitate before saying the next bit but seemed to judge him as someone he could trust with the information he was about to reveal. "Do you know a black man saved my life at Manassas? I'd be in worse shape than I was if he hadn't pushed me out of the way and then got me to safety."

"A slave?"

"No. A soldier and a good man."

"His master made him serve," he wrote with confidence. He was appalled with the idea that slave owners were forcing their slaves to serve in the Confederate army to keep themselves and their families slaves. He'd read an article stating as much in Fredrick Douglass' anti-slavery newspaper. He wished the federal government would allow colored folks to join the Union side. This war might be won a lot faster.

"He was free. His sister was raped by a group of Union soldiers. That didn't create no love for the North in him. I ain't saying they're all here to rape and pillage; I'm sure some got real high ideals, but it's not an army of abolitionists we're fighting. Not that our boys are paragons of virtue either. And I've met some bad blacks. Both sides does things they maybe ought to hang for. Things that wartime sometimes lets them get by with. Let's just hope there's a quick end to it all."

"There's good and evil everywhere," he wrote, recalling Fannie's words again. His idealism had painted the way he saw the world. The south was the enemy. The slaves were good people longing to be free, who only would look at him, at Unionists, as rescuers. And he'd saw all his brothers in blue as heroes. But things were only ever that simple in storybooks. Real life, people, were much more complicated. Things weren't looking quite as black and white to him anymore. They were starting to look...well, a little gray.

Kid crumpled the paper he'd been writing on and threw it into the fireplace. He stoked the dying embers back to life from the fire that had been created by Sister Ruth last night. "Sorry about your drawing. But your words could look like treason to some."

He supposed they could. Truth was, he was beginning to feel a little treasonous for even entertaining the southerners' viewpoint. Was that being disloyal to the Union? To the black race? He would still lay down his life for the cause. He would defend the United States with his dying breath. But the enemy was starting to look a lot less like the enemy.

sss

Sister Ruth took breakfast to the guest no one but her family knew about while Kid was busy taking it to the soldiers. She wondered how he'd react if he knew she was a participant in the Underground Railroad and then she wondered why she cared how he'd react, but she did.

It was probably because she worried about his soul. She'd gotten the impression that he didn't know the Lord from their conversations, a problem she intended to remedy now that he was feeling better.

Winny was in no state for breakfast. She could see that much in the dim lighting. She'd been right about the her time being near. The groans, the labored breathing, and the dark spot on the earthen floor made it pretty plain the young woman was going to have a babe in her arms sometime today.

"Mind if I have a look?" Sister Ruth asked and then lifted the hem of her dress when she gave a nod. "I think the baby's coming."

"I think you're right," she replied in a thin voice.

Ruth tried not to let her anxiety show. That was a lot more blood than a woman was supposed to have. Not that she'd ever personally given birth, but she'd set in on enough to know. And was that the placenta she saw? Something definitely was not right. If the woman had been a calf, she could have reached in and felt what exactly was going on, but with a person and not knowing what she was doing, she would probably cause more harm than good.

"Oh, Lord God, my sister needs You and Your healing touch. Her sweet baby needs You. Please, be with them both." Looking at the young woman struggling in pain, she asked, "Do you believe in Him, sister?"

"Yes'm, I couldn't have come this far without Him."

"Keep trusting Him, and I'll be back with help. With a doctor. Just keep praying, and I'll keep praying, too. He won't abandon you."

Panic rose on top of the pain. "No, I don't want no doctor. They'll turn me in. They'll make me go back."

"The doctor I get won't. Child, you need help. Relax and believe that it will work out according to His plan. Things always do. You have to be brave for your little one if not for yourself. I won't be gone long."

She'd spoken confidently, she knew, as the sun blinded her while emerging, but she wasn't as sure she'd be back with a doctor as she'd said. Doc Anderson had never been an option. David wasn't moving from the bed without help and that would raise too much suspicion. She could think of only one she could go to for help with this crisis, the lady doctor, and she didn't know her well enough to know if she was sympathetic to the plight of slaves, or if she would be willing to go anywhere with a southerner given her earlier statements. She'd just have to hope and pray that she would.

**A/N: Black Confederate soldier based on real historical figures and events that can be found in** _**Black Confederates and Afro-Yankees in Civil War Virginia** _ **.**


	11. Chapter 11

After asking the postmaster, Ruth found out Dr. Quinn was staying at a local boarding house. The prejudices of the proprietress, Mrs. Bryant, ran high, but her greed ran higher, and she was more than willing to charge exorbitant prices to a needy Yankee. The house was simple, maybe even a bit derelict, not the kind of house Dr. Quinn was likely used to, going off her fine clothes, but she doubted any other place would have sheltered her.

Mrs. Bryant let her go up to the doctor's room, questions unasked, as she was not one to pry into her boarder's private lives as long as the rent was coming in.

Dr. Quinn recognized her immediately. "I thought I was clear I couldn't help you. I gave my word I wouldn't aid or abet the enemy in any way."

"What about your oath as a doctor? To heal the sick? You willing to let somebody die when you can stop it? Or what about your oath as a Christian to love your enemies? Seems to me God ought to come before country."

She didn't say anything right away, but finally she sighed. "I suppose you're right about that. I can't in good conscience let someone die. Let me grab my bag."

Ruth smiled in relief. She hadn't expected it to be so easy. The Lord was in this.

sss

As Michaela followed the dark-haired, Southern woman, her stomach got a little queasy. Why was she leading her into the woods and not towards the house? What if this was some sort of trap? She had a scalpel in her bag that she could use for defense, but it would be poor defense against a gun. Maybe she was letting her imagination run away from her. Possibly someone had fallen from a tree or had an accident cutting one down. She never had asked the nature of the patient's need. "Where are we going?"

"Shh. We need to stay quiet. It won't be much farther," she said in a whisper, "and then you'll understand."

She didn't sound as if she were up to something dastardly and the lady carried a Bible. How much harm could or would she do? She forced herself to relax but only a little.

She watched in amazement as Sister Ruth opened a door that revealed a dark hole to a former cellar. She realized she must be insane to follow her into it. Why in heaven's name would a soldier be down here?

Only it wasn't a soldier. It was a woman in labor, a black woman. She could see that much from the lone candle that was burning. She didn't have too much time to consider that fact. The soon-to-be mother was in obvious distress.

"This is Winny. I brought a couple more candles, so's you could see what you're doing," Sister Ruth said, pulling them from a basket she'd carried and lighting them.

While Sister Ruth prayed, a hand raised and her lips moving incessantly, Michaela worked. She had to see if she could see the baby, and when she didn't, she felt. It was as she'd feared, a breached birth. She had to right the baby, so she pressed gently on Winny's abdomen. She looked again. She could see the baby's feet this time. The baby was coming feet first, ready or not.

She opened her medical bag and took out the forceps. She encouraged the woman to push while Sister Ruth held the mother's hand. The baby had difficulty and stopped coming once the shoulders had made their way out as often happened in these situations. With some gentle tugging of the forceps though, the baby entered the world in a room not much brighter than the womb.

There were no cries and the mother began to panic because of it and cry herself while Sister Ruth pleaded with the Almighty, but the baby was taking breaths of air and from a quick examination seemed healthy despite the difficult birth. "It's okay. You have a healthy baby boy," she announced.

Sister Ruth brought an old but clean petticoat from the basket to wrap the baby in, explaining that all the blankets and then some were in use. The mother didn't seem to care that her baby wouldn't have a blanket. In fact, she seemed touched by the petticoat.

Michaela cleaned the baby off, using the pitcher of water and a corner of the petticoat and then swaddled the baby in the clean part before finally handing him to his mother.

She took a quick perusal of the mother's health and her eyes locked onto her bare feet. "Her feet are covered in blisters and bleeding," she whispered to Sister Ruth, who had moved beside her.

"Runaway slaves have to do a lot of the running on their own. There aren't many places that will take them in. They're blessed to find one. No doubt about it. God brought us all together at this moment in time to help each other. I wondered why He didn't allow the faith healing to work when Winny and I both believed in His power to heal, and now I know; He was waiting on you."

Michaela was feeling much more kindly disposed towards the woman despite the strangeness of the last comment. There was something about the camaraderie that was born during a crisis. This woman hadn't been anything like she'd expected, and she had to admit she'd been guilty of playing into stereotypes and prejudices. "I certainly felt His presence as that baby was born."

"You know, it's not so unlike a birth over 1800 years ago, where another baby was born into humble circumstances and needed to run away, into Egypt."

"That's going to be his name," Winny said softly. "Egypt."

"What a beautiful choice," Sister Ruth said.

"It is very nice," Michaela agreed as she wrapped Winny's feet in a salve and bandages. "Is there anything else I can do here?" She spoke less of medical things and more of helping her on the road to freedom.

"I don't believe so, sister. She needs to rest a few days, of course, and then my uncle has a plan for getting her to safety."

She still couldn't get over what a kind and colorblind soul Sister Ruth was. "How is it that you have such a sympathy towards their plight? My father raised me to be progressive, and I've been to too many abolitionist meeting not to know the kind of things that go on, but why were you inspired to help slaves?"

"You mean why me, a southerner?"

"I guess I do."

"It's right easy to be a product of our culture and time. But when we focus on the unchanging Word of God and make it our culture, I believe the scales fall from our eyes. And the Bible says there is no slave or free in Jesus Christ. As followers of Christ, we are equal in his sight, beloved children and precious."

"There are some who use the Bible to justify their mistreatment of slaves."

"Men have always tried to twist what the Bible says to fit their wicked desires. They find a verse that suits them and then they take it out of context. They'll answer for their misuse of scripture one day. 'Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.'"

She'd never met a woman who made God such a part of her daily life and conversation, but it was perhaps the way it should be. So many complained they had a hard time feeling close to God, she one of them, when they put no effort into the relationship. It seemed she'd heard verses in a sermon one time about not only mediating on the Word day and night but speaking them inside and outside the home whatever you were doing. This was the fruit of it played out in Sister Ruth, a clearer worldview than many had.

It inspired her to spend more time in the Word herself, and she could begin to clear her own view of the world starting today. "I want to have a look at your men. It's the least I can do. I imagine if you saw a man in Union blue, you wouldn't let it stop you from helping him."

She smiled, teeth gleaming in the candlelight. "No, I wouldn't, and it's funny you should mention that."

"Oh?" Her curiosity was definitely piqued as she closed her medical bag.

She stood. "Come with me, and you'll see what I mean."


	12. Chapter 12

"Well, welcome to the barn. I got one patient in particular I'm worried about," Sister Ruth said, taking her along the narrow pathways created by the space between the mats until they reached him. "This is Dr. Quinn. She's going to take a look at your leg."

Michaela examined him. His left leg was badly infected. He was conscious but just barely. "You can just call me Dr. Mike. Most of my patients do because my father calls me Mike." She didn't have to look too long. There were long, red streaks going up his leg. If they waited much longer, he was going to die. "He needs his leg removed."

Her stomach churned with anxiety. She'd never had to remove a limb off a live person before. She had assisted her father in removing a toe from a lady who suffered from diabetes, but that wasn't quite the same as a whole leg. She hadn't even brought a bone saw, not expecting to perform surgery on her trip. She had only the most basic tools and medicines in her bag. "But I need a bone saw."

"Oh, mercy. I was afraid of that. It just so happens by a blessed circumstance, Dr. Anderson left his bag, and I know he's got a saw in there. I'm sure he wouldn't mind us using it to save a man's life," Sister Ruth told her as she went to get said bag.

Kid overheard and was quite sure he would, but it didn't change the fact that the saw was needed.

"I just need a place to perform the surgery then and a few minutes to prepare," Dr. Mike said.

"There's a place outside set up. I've assisted during surgeries before, and I know where to bury the parts. Some of the men need their bandages changed, but I guess that can wait."

"I could help change bandages," Kid interjected. "Isn't that why I got into this volunteering anyway?"

"Okay then. Come watch me with the first patient to see how it's done while Dr. Mike gets things together. This is Kid Cole. He's a patient, but he's helping while he convalesces. He'd help lift the man, but he's got a wound in his side, so I'm going to run and get my uncle to help move him for you."

Kid waited while Ruth went to tell her uncle. He didn't have to wait long for her return and then he went to watch her clean and bandage a man's stump. Quarters were tight as the man was pushed up against a corner of a stall that a horse had lived in at one time. If he wanted to see good, he had to move in close to her.

But he couldn't think with her this near much less listen. She did plenty of talking and explaining, and he watched the hypnotizing movement of her lips. He had to remind himself to breathe occasionally. He tried to focus by watching the top of her head instead. Did she know that the sunlight from the window above them turned the highlights in her hair ruby red? He couldn't help admire said highlights as he tried to banish the overwhelming desire he had to kiss her. He thought he could detect the faint scent of rose on her. Did she sprinkle rose petals in her bath or did she splash a little rosewater on herself?

"Were you listening to a word I said?" she asked, craning up to look at him, breaking him from his trance.

The patient smirked at him. "I think he had other things on his mind." If he didn't have a policy against striking a one-armed man, Kid would be sorely tempted to.

He put a little distance between himself and Sister Ruth instead, before she figured out exactly what he had on his mind. "I...that was a lot of instructions. I think I'm the kind that's got to learn by doing."

"Oh, well, let's step outside and you can practice on me," she said, up and moving before he had a chance to protest. Having to touch her was not going to help his concentration any.

Once outside, she whirled on her heels and placed a clean roll of cloth that had once been a sheet in his hands, along with the gauze. "I have a wound on my hand. Wrap me up."

He took her hand, ignoring the rapid pulse he could hear beating in his ears and his sweaty palms. He put his attention on her hand and started wrapping, taking care not look into her eyes. It was such a small hand, a hand not afraid to work, a pretty hand.

"You didn't clean me up first."

"Huh?"

"You got to keep it as clean and sweet as possible. I use water, and if it's a bad one, I splash a little liquor on there too. Doc Anderson said as long as it was wrapped, it'd keep infection out and that I could even reuse bandages if I had to, but I think it does a body to feel clean, and there'll be plenty of corn husks to use for wrapping pretty soon, since harvest is right around the corner."

He feigned splashing liquor on her hand, wishing he had some in reality to drink, and then he tried wrapping it around her again.

"Too loose," she said when he'd finished. She used her free hand to wrap her imaginary wound to the right tightness. It was obvious she could about do it in her sleep. "Make sure it's secure and then tie the ends like this."

"I think I got it."

"I'm not going to show you how to use plaster. I'm just going to give it to you, but use it to stick a bandage onto a wound that can't be wrapped without taking up too much cloth, a wound like yours for example."

"Sounds easy enough."

"He's ready," Dr. Mike said, joining them. She looked at Sister Ruth with a slight frown. "While I was waiting for your uncle to help me move him, one of the patients said something concerning to me."

"Oh, yeah? What'd he say?" she asked.

"He said you told him he could fight his infection by calling on the Lord to be healed and believing."

"Amen, sister."

"That's not true though. He needs medical care, not faith."

"I think the two go hand-in-hand, but I treat them as any nurse would if that's what worries you. Medical skill comes from God, too, but He uses me most though helping others believe; that's where my gift lays. And it's a good thing, too. We ain't got enough medicine to go around, but there's always plenty of faith. I've seen so many limbs and lives saved because of God's work."

He could tell she wanted to argue with her more. She thought Sister Ruth was putting patients' lives and health at risk by thinking all they needed was faith. He really couldn't say if she was or not, but he knew he had fared well under her care and that said a lot. He caught her attention next though because he wasn't walking as straight as he could have. He was having sharp pains in his chest and then he let out a hacking cough.

"You don't look well," Dr. Mike said. "Why don't you rest, and I'll have a look at you when I finish?"

"No, thank you, ma'am. I'm fine," he told her, hurrying to get started on dressing wounds before she had him taking his shirt off to look at his side.

"It's not you. He don't like any women a poking and a prodding on him, especially while he's shirtless," he heard Sister Ruth explaining. "Kind of shy, I reckon."

"You'd be surprised how many women don't want women poking and prodding on them either, but I suppose if he felt bad enough he'd let me."

"Yeah, he probably would," she agreed.

Maybe he should let the doctor have a look at him. He was starting to feel pretty terrible, but it wasn't his wound that hurt; it had all but healed. He was just coming down with a little something that he could fight off given time. There were plenty of patients that needed her attention more.

sss

The Confederate soldier turned nurse was taking care of him, doing the unpleasant job of redressing his wounds. David could barely stand to look at them himself. They reminded him too much of the wounds he'd seen on the battlefield. He had grown tired and disgusted looking at the things human beings did to other human beings. He was almost glad of his wounds for getting him off the battlefield.

Speaking of human misery, a blood-curdling scream was released, making him and Kid both jump.

"A patient had to lose a leg," Kid explained, "I know they chloroformed him. I saw the doc doing it. Must be awake now to realize he don't have a leg no more."

At least he could still say he had his legs even if they weren't working.

"And it might be him realizing a lady doctor did the surgery. Course, I don't know much about medicine, but she looked liked she knew what she was doing to me. Nice-looking lady. She'll probably come in to check on you, too."

It couldn't be, could it? But how many practicing lady doctors were there? They could probably be counted on his hands. He wrote, "What's her name?"

"Dr. Quinn's her real name, but she goes by Dr. Mike. I wouldn't worry none about it. She might even be able to help you out given her training's more recent than Doc Anderson's. Get you walking again."

Although he still couldn't make a sound, his breathing turned laborious. One look at him and she would know it was him. "I need my entire face bandaged," he wrote.

"What?" He was looking at him like he was crazy, but it wasn't crazy to protect the woman you loved. "Why?"

"Please," he added, hoping the single word would be enough to get him to do as he asked.

Kid clearly didn't understand why he wanted to look like a mummy, but he gave in without further argument, and he finished none too soon for there was a rap at the door.


	13. Chapter 13

David braced himself as Kid called, "Come in." He added, "I'm done in here. I'll get out of y'all's way."

He couldn't see her, but he knew she was in the room before she ever said a word. He knew it by her the sound of her quick, purposeful steps and the cloying smell of chloroform from the recent surgery she'd performed.

Michaela must have seen him because her steps stopped abruptly. "What happened?"

"That's a mighty good question." Even through the bandages he could feel her look of disapproval. It seeped out when she spoke, but she didn't reveal his secret. If Sister Ruth had lingering doubts before that he was the David Michaela was looking for, she knew it now.

"What?" Michaela asked, confused by the response she'd received.

"He was hit with cannon fire. He took shrapnel to his face, neck and legs. Doc Anderson removed it all, but he's still got plenty of healing to do," Sister Ruth said in a gross understatement.

"I'm very sorry to hear that. I'm just going to remove the bandages then and see how you're healing. Is that alright with you?"

"He can't talk, I'm afraid. His vocal chords were damaged. He can only squeeze your hand for yes or no."

Michaela picked up his hand. "May I look at your wounds? Squeeze once for yes and twice for no."

To someone who didn't know her, who didn't know her moods, her every little nuance, she sounded calm, collected, professional. He alone heard the tremor of her voice. He knew what had caused it, too. She was afraid of needing to remove his legs. The first time you heard the sickening sound of a saw going through bone, before it became a horrible rhythm, a melody you had to tune out to keep going, it was horrific. He wished he could tell her he knew what she was going through and reach out and hold her.

Instead, he squeezed twice for no, releasing her hand quickly before the desire to reveal himself to her overcame his good sense.

"He's a doc himself," Sister Ruth said. "I reckon he'd know if he needed looking at."

He hated that she'd revealed even that much about him, but Michaela thought him a Confederate, so he supposed his identity was safe. And it gave her reason not to push to look behind the bandages.

Michaela must have looked at the time for she said, "I didn't realize how late it had gotten. I was going to go out to where the battle took place. I don't know why. I know my fiancé won't be there, whatever happened to him, but I want to see it. And then I need to find someone who knows where the prisoners went, so I can look for him."

His heart constricted with grief. Why didn't she go home and forget about him? She was young enough to find someone else. When she found out he wasn't among the prisoners, she would think him dead, as would his family. Maybe it was better that way. Better than a half-blind cripple who didn't know what he was going to do with his life now, whose dark thoughts and bitter feelings scared even himself.

"Be careful. You don't want to be out after dark. The town's full of strangers, resentful enough to feel justified in committing evil acts."

"I will be. What was it you said to me at the start? Didn't you say there was something you wanted to show me?"

"There was." And he had a feeling Sister Ruth was staring right at him again. "There was someone I thought might be able to help you. I was wrong though. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm glad I was able to help you at least. I'll be here a couple more days if you need anything else."

"Thank you, sister. God be with you. I'd walk you out, but I have a patient that needs some tending to." He didn't like the way she said tending.

Alone with her, Sister Ruth began to unwrap the extra bandages. She spoke as she worked, "You had no right to hide your face like that. What are you afraid of? She loves you. Every time she's left alone to her thoughts, I see the worry and sorrow she feels thinking about you. You're causing her to suffer by hiding the fact that you're alive. Is that what you want?"

"No!" It came out as a croak. A strangled, deep sound that was nothing like his voice, but it was a sound.

"Praise the Lord. Your voice is coming back. It's not too late, you know. I can go get her."

He shook his head this time, not wanting to strain his returning voice. The fact that he would one day talk again didn't mean that he would one day walk again.

There was a knock on the door again, and he feared Michaela had returned, so he pulled the quilt up over his head, but it was only Kid. "I'm going to lay down for a little while. Do you need anything else before I do?"

"No, and of course you should, you worked hard today. You don't want to overdo it."

"No, ma'am." Kid coughed a phlegm-filled cough. He'd seen him rubbing his chest as he'd been wrapping him. And he'd seemed so weak beyond what a person who'd suffered an injury like his should be feeling.

He was vaguely aware that Sister Ruth was still lecturing him about telling Michaela the truth. He ignored her, getting his pen and paper now that his good eye was unwrapped. "Consumption," he wrote.

"What?" she asked as a deep crease formed on her forehead.

"Kid. Not uncommon for soldiers to be sick. Disease kills the men as much or more than the bullets. He needs rest and plenty to eat. It's good that he's up and moving. Exercise is good, too."

"Oh, Lord God, no," she said as he wrote the words. She knew consumption was a killer, slow sometimes but sure. She wondered how David had been able to diagnose him because she knew Kid was too stubborn to let himself be examined, but she didn't stay around to ask.

She went by the kitchen first. "Aunt Margie, fix up a heaping, hearty plate of whatever you can scrounge together and some more tea. Bring it to the barn when it's ready."

"Something wrong?" Margie asked.

"One of the patients needs more than just the simple fare to get better. Doctor's orders."

"I'll find something then," she promised.

She sought out Kid next. He was laying down on his mat looking about as tired and worn as she'd ever seen him.

"You're having pains in your chest, that's why you could hardly stand straight," she accused. "Why didn't you tell somebody how poorly you felt?" she asked, reaching and feeling his forehead. He was hot to the touch. Fever again.

He pulled her hand down off his forehead. "There's people worse off than me. More deserving than me."

He really had no idea how ill he was. "Maybe so, but doctor's orders are you need a comfortable place to rest, so get up that ladder and you can have my place."

He balked. "My mat's just fine."

"Not fine enough," she argued, taking his arm to encourage him to stand.

He did, but he wasn't ready to give in. "And just where are you going to sleep?"

"With you," she said, and when his mouth dropped, she added, "What I mean is I'll be up there with you if you need me. I don't need much to get comfortable."

"Think of your reputation."

"I care more for your health," she said pushing him towards the ladder. "I stopped worrying about what men thought of me when leg-of-mutton sleeves went out of style. I only worry about the Lord thinks now."

"I'm not close to Him like you are, but I'm not sure He'd approve either."

"Climb," she ordered.

"You sound like one of my officers," he muttered.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Now climb," she said, pointing to the ladder for emphasis.

He did, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that if he wasn't so weary, he would have put up a harder fight.

Her place was a feather mattress with a thick comfy quilt and a pillow. She got him settled in it, draping the covering over him. He was watching her like the Pharisees watched Jesus.

Finally, he said, "It's not that I don't appreciate it, but why are you giving me such special treatment?"

She'd brought over the tepid water that been intended for her morning washing. "Well, you are my favorite patient," she said with a teasing smile.

"You say that to all the men." He looked so grouchy as he said it. He must have been in pain for he'd never been testy with her before.

"Well, maybe because you were such a good help to me today," she said, patting his hand, "You lightened my load a lot. The quicker you get on your feet, the quicker you can help me again."

"That's not it either," he argued as she dipped the washrag into the bowl and then onto his forehead to cool his fever.

She wasn't sure she could give him a satisfactory answer. Would she have done this for any man? Yes, she had already given her bed up once. This was actually the second time she was doing it, and yet, it was different, too. The thought of losing any patient was saddening to her, she prayed for them all, but she had a feeling it would hurt a whole lot more to lose Kid. She was inexplicably drawn to him. "Because 'you shall love your neighbor as yourself'. That says it all, don't it?"

"Got your tea and supper," Aunt Margie called.

She climbed down the ladder to retrieve it. Margie had gotten together a hunk of bread with a little bit of cheese and meat. When Ruth started going towards the ladder with it, Aunt Margie asked, "Is there a man up there?"

"Just Kid. He needed somewhere comfortable, so I gave him my mattress instead of these flat, little reed mats with no coverings and no pillows. It's no wonder he got sick, but he'll get better. He's too ornery to die."

"But- but-and just where do you plan on sleeping?"

"The loft. When he gets to sleep, I'll just kind of lean up against the wall and sleep setting up. Might even bring up a chair."

"Ruth Ann McKenzie, not under my roof or my barn. I don't even like you up there with him alone."

"I've got to be up there, Aunt Margie. I need to get him to eat. It just occurred to me that I don't think he's been finishing his meals."

"When I tell your uncle..." She left the sentence hanging as she went back to the house.

There was nothing like older relatives for making you feel young again, she thought with a chuckle, as she slowly got up to the loft, using one hand to hold on and the other to balance the tea and plate.

"Were you arguing with your aunt because of me?" Kid asked.

"No, we've just all been running low on sleep lately." She sat down beside him, putting the plate in her lap and the tea beside him. "Time to eat."

He turned his head. "Not hungry right now, but thank you."

"You're going to eat," she informed him, "if I have to force-feed you."

He sat up with a grimace. "And to think, I used to believe you were nice."

She smiled. He could say what he liked as long as he was eating.

"Happy?" he asked when he handed her back the empty plate and cup.

"Very," she said, but she frowned because she saw that he was chilled even though he had a sheen of sweat. She undid the top two buttons of his shirt, so she could get the cloth around his neck, too. She felt his forehead again and he moaned a little bit. Then she put the back of her hand against his rough-shaven jaw. Still hot, but he'd just drunk his tea. It would take a little bit for his fever to lower.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," he said, his voice gravelly and his eyes half-closed.

"Do what?"

"Touch me like that. You tempt me when you do that."

The words made her blush and let go of him. Confusing thoughts and feelings plagued her. Was he attracted to her? It might have been the fever talking.

She wet her lips as she struggled for something to say. Was she attracted to him? He was a good man. Maybe a little rough around the edges, but she saw his goodness in his smile, in the way he'd helped her and David, too, though she disagreed with the way he'd helped. He'd been sympathetic towards Fannie when few would have been. She enjoyed talking to him and even bantering with him. He had a calming, steadying way about him.

He'd closed his eyes, not expecting her to say anything in return. Something tortured him, she knew that, too. Probably the same thing that tortured almost all the men here, the senseless deaths, the having to take men's lives. She put a hand in his longish, black hair, not quite touching him and stroked it. She though she saw his eyes flicker but he didn't say anything. Even his hair felt hot or was it her temperature that was rising, still thinking of his words?

She dipped her fingers in the water bowl and then flicked the droplets at herself. He didn't half know what he was saying. And when he recovered, she refused to even consider if, he would rejoin his regiment. They couldn't have a future together, could they?

"Kid?" she asked and there was no answer. For a moment she feared the worse, but the rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive. He'd only fallen asleep, and she didn't have the heart to wake him.

She wanted to cry. She'd been so busy focused on the physical care, she hadn't taken the time to share Jesus with this man she liked so much. What if she was too late? What if the consumption took him in the night while he was sleeping? She wouldn't be able to bear it. "Lord, heal his body and give me another chance to lead him to You. He needs You. Help him see how much he needs You."


	14. Chapter 14

The sun was getting ready to set. The men had all gotten their suppers. Ruth hadn't gotten the chance to check on Winny and Egypt again, but her aunt and uncle would if they could. She'd told them about the baby, but they had to be cautious because they couldn't be seen going into the woods too often. One never knew who was watching.

Kid was still asleep as she climbed back up into the loft. Using what little daylight remained, she sat under the window and opened her Bible to read, something she hadn't had much time to do as of late to her shame.  _How amiable are thy tabernacles, O_ _Lord_ _of hosts!_   _My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the_ _Lord_ _: my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God._

That was exactly how she felt. She'd never longed for the sanctuary of church more, where it could shut out the sights and sounds and horrors of war, so one could solely focus on praising and worshiping God, but even more than that she wanted God's peaceful, loving presence to fill not just her, but the men who were struggling around her: Kid, David, and even Doc Anderson.

She didn't get far into the psalm when Kid sat up with the jerk that came from interrupted sleep, and he was soaked in sweat. She went immediately to his side.

"I had a nightmare," he said when he saw her.

"I figured as much. Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Just remembering getting shot is all." Switching the subject, he said, "I'm really sick, ain't I? You wouldn't be up here otherwise."

"Consumption," she admitted.

He laughed mirthlessly. "That's a death sentence, you know. They send you home to die if you don't die there first. Looks like I won't be seeing another battle. Or much of anything."

"Only God knows how much time you got left, but if you know Him, it don't much matter when you go. You live each day to the fullest, knowing you're right with the Lord."

"You don't even know the things I've done. You don't know nothing about me."

"I know there ain't nothing that can keep you from getting forgiveness except for not getting it."

He laid back down, turning his back to her. "Go away. I don't want to talk about it."

Maybe she should have left him be, but she longed for him to know the Lord, ached for it. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Kid, just ask Him. That's all it takes."

He turned back around mostly to get her off his shoulder if she was a guessing person. "What no child sacrifices?" he asked dryly.

"You think this a joke?" she demanded, temper flaring.

He sat up again to look her in the eyes. "No, ma'am, I don't. But it's not something I care to discuss right now."

"Then when? When you're cold in the ground? When it's too late to do anything about it?"

"Why do you care so much about what happens to my soul? It's my soul."

"Because I care."

"Why?"

"Because I do." In the course of their arguing, they had drawn so close, she could see the puckered scar on his jaw. She wanted to know how he'd gotten it; she wanted to know everything there was to know about him, including how his lips would feel against hers.

She pulled back with that last thought, wondering what had gotten into her. Was that a flicker of disappointment that crossed his face? If she'd lingered, would she have she have gotten the answer to how his lips felt?

"Ruthie, come down here," her uncle called from down below.

"I'm not through with you yet," she warned before descending the ladder.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Kid mumbled.

Hiram motioned her outside. Daylight was gone and only the lantern in his hand lit up the surrounding area thanks to a clouded sky.

"Margie tells me you intend to spend a night with a man up in the loft."

"Nursing a patient sick with consumption. There's a big difference."

"Perhaps, but we'll have to figure something else out. I'm taking the bundles of wood up with the wheat tomorrow, and I'll get the wagon over Bull Run Mountain to Negro Mountain where there'll be help and then it's only a day or less away from the Potomac River. Mr. Swanson's going to check in on the corn while I'm gone."

Sounded easy enough, but they would need to be girded in prayer in case someone took a notion to make sure wheat was all that was getting transported. "I can't think of a better plan." She stole a glance up at the loft window, hoping Kid was well and thinking about God.

"You're sweet on him, ain't you?"

She turned back to her uncle with a startled expression. "What?"

"The soldier up in the loft. I know a love struck look when I see one. How does he feel about you?"

She started to protest but then closed her mouth. He was right after all. She was falling in love with Kid Cole. "It don't matter how he feels. I have to lead him to the Lord before I can even consider an us."

"Well, I hope it works out for you, Ruthie. You deserve to be happy. I'll sleep up in the loft tonight. It was bad enough you sleeping up there before, but now I have to insist on taking your place. You go get in bed with your aunt."

She smiled. "Thanks, Uncle Hiram. I appreciate it."

sss

Dr. Anderson had put it off as long as he could, but he'd looked everywhere else. He must have left his bag on the McKenzie farm. He'd have to deal with those, slave-loving, almost-Yankees again.

Everyone was in bed already. The lights were out. Well, that was no matter. He'd left it in the barn. If they hadn't moved it, it'd still be there.

He carefully pulled the door back and crept in. He saw the scuffed. black leather bag hanging on one of the hooks on the wall. He grabbed it and once outside checked that nothing was missing inside. He wouldn't put it past them to monkey with his things.

Everything seemed in order, so he got on top of his horse, but a brief break in the clouds allowed him to spot a button gleaming in the moonlight from the fire pit. He hopped down for a closer inspection. The button had the year 1638 on one side, but what really stood out to him was the abbreviated Mass. on the other side of the golden object.

There was a soldier from Massachusetts somewhere on this property, and there was only one he could think of not wearing a uniform. He'd thought it missing because it was damaged beyond repair in the battle, but it had apparently been burned to hide the man's origins.

Didn't it just figure those mountain people would harbor the enemy? He hadn't trusted them from the start. They'd lived too close to West Virginia, who'd proved themselves to be disloyal to the state. They wouldn't be harboring him for much longer if he had anything to say about it. He had to travel to the next county first as he'd promised his daughter that he'd be there during his granddaughter's delivery in case something went bad wrong like it had the last time. He'd just received word that her pains had started, but after she delivered a healthy baby, he was going to report it, and that Yankee scum was going under the guard of their boys.

With any luck, they'd hang that infuriating Sister Ruth for being a traitor to the Confederacy.


	15. Chapter 15

The first patient Ruth checked that morning was Kid. He really had become her favorite patient, she thought with amusement as she made the climb. She'd seen Hiram departing at first light, having loaded the "cargo" while it was still dark, so she expected not to find him. What she didn't expect was to see Kid Cole on his feet in full uniform from the canteen slung across his chest to the revolver on his hip. He was folding up the quilt as she stepped into the loft.

"And just where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

"Where do you think? Maybe the army can still use this old body before it withers up and dies."

"The army expects you to be at full health. You're not at full health."

"The army takes old men and children. You think they're really going to quibble about a man still in the early stages of consumption?"

No, they wouldn't. Not so long as he could walk and raise a gun to fight. "You can't do this."

He looked up at her as he set the quilt down. "I've already made up my mind. If I'm keeping women and children safe, as well as my own family, at least I'm doing something worthwhile with what's left of my life."

"Trying to atone for your sins? You can't, you know. We can never do enough good to outweigh the bad. We can only accept the free gift of grace accomplished through the saving work of the cross."

"You don't give up, do you?" he asked with a chuckle. "If it makes you feel any easier, I'll buy a Bible on my way back to help pass away the time at camp."

"That makes me feel a little better, but that's not the same thing as being saved. You've got to believe in the Lord Jesus, Kid, and turn to Him."

"Now how am I going to believe unless I read it first?" he quipped.

"Your soul's too precious to go risk it in a place where bullets are flying everywhere. Find out what you believe now." She still stood in front of the ladder. She set her Bible at her feet, widened her stance, and planted her fists on her hips. "I refuse to let you go until you do."

"I don't need your permission, and I ain't afraid to move you neither." He put his hands on her waist and picked her up like she weighed hardly more than a sack of flour, setting her to the side. She hadn't thought he had that much strength in him. There was no denying his regiment would take him back.

It also hadn't escaped her notice that his hands were still on her waist and that they slowly drifted around to her back. Her hands needing something to do, a distraction, played with one of his brass buttons.

She licked her dry lips and the way his eyes focused in on the movement set a swarm of butterflies loose in her stomach. "What if I just don't want you to go? What if I want you to stay?"

"You know how to make things hard on a man," he said in a raspy voice that made those butterfly wings flap harder.

He lowered his mouth to hers and tested the waters by taking her lower lip and gently sucking. It felt like the air was whisked from her body as she found herself responding in kind.

His lips felt wonderful as they moved against hers; it felt so right. Her hunger and his grew in fervor, gradually turning it into a bruising, crushing kiss that communicated their desire for one another.

"That-I-you," she sputtered when he broke away at last. She felt like a babbling fool, but the kiss had wiped away all her thoughts and arguments.

He was panting. His lips were swollen. Hers probably were too, since they were definitely tingling. "I'll only hurt you. You should forget about me, Ruth."

And he was down the ladder before she could formulate a coherent response.

sss

David hadn't slept much for thinking about Michaela. He'd known he might end up sacrificing his life for freedom, but he hadn't dreamed he would have to sacrifice her. And it hurt so much, he struggled to breathe at times. But he would never put his welfare above hers. She would find love again; in fact, he'd prayed for it though he wasn't sure he believed in a God who allowed such suffering anymore. Her pain would pass with time despite the fact that his never would.

Sister Ruth breezed into the room after a knock like usual. She'd come with the same old breakfast, mush. He was so sick of mush. On Sundays, they had grits, which to his mind was glorified mush. Maybe it would grow on him with time, but he doubted it.

"Beautiful day, ain't it? 'This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.'" His first response was to shake his head in disagreement, but there was something different in her tone. Her cheerfulness rang false for once and when he took a closer look, as she set his bowl down, he saw that her eyes were rimmed red, indicating she'd been crying.

He got his paper and pencil. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." Then she gave a short bark of laughter. "Men. That's what's wrong. It's a wonder any of you ever get married."

He had a feeling she wasn't referring solely to him, but he didn't want to pry further. She would tell him about it if she felt like it.

During the night he'd thought of a way to handle his situation with Michaela. He wrote, "What happened to my uniform?"

"Burned, but I kept your watch. It was too risky to keep anything else."

He'd been wearing his dress uniform, having loaned out his regular to a friend. He'd hoped to give the jacket to her as proof, but the watch would do just as well or better. "Give it to Michaela. Tell her you found on body of dead soldier. She will give up and go home."

"You want me to lie to her? I can't do that. I won't do that."

"I want her to have it. There's no hope for us. I want her to live without me. She won't do that without proof. I beg you. Do it for her if you won't do it for me."

She didn't say no, but she didn't say yes. Instead, she gave him a little frown and left the room muttering. He hoped she changed her mind and realized that sometimes a lie was less painful than the truth.


	16. Chapter 16

Sister Ruth returned from another trip of delivering letters. She was so lost in thought, thinking about Kid and how much she missed him, though he hadn't been gone long, that she didn't notice a hand reaching out to grab her until she was snatched into the outhouse with a hand over her mouth.

"Shh, it's me, Ruth."

"Aunt Margie? What on earth? You about scared me into resurrection day," she asked in a loud whisper.

"It's David. I don't know how, but they found out about him. I pretended ignorance, so I don't think they'll do anything to me. You on the other hand..."

She barely heard the warning about herself. She was too worried about David. "What are they going to do to him?"

"From what I understand, they'll take him to a hospital and then when he's recovered enough, they'll take him to a prison camp."

"Well, at least he'll be in a hospital. Maybe the war'll be over before he has to go to the prison camp."

"You've got to leave. I told them you were with Hiram, delivering wheat, but I think they suspect you of being a spy."

"That's ridiculous. I'm no spy just because I won't let a man die. And why are they capturing him? Why don't they just let him go home? He can't walk for pity's sake. Do they think he can rejoin his troop like that?"

"Ridiculous or not, you could be arrested. I doubt they'll take your life since you're a woman, but who knows? Hiram and I have appreciated your help and company, and it'll be hard when you go, but you should get back to your revivals."

Escape out west while those she loved and her countrymen faced the ravages of war? She believed God had called her back to the South, to her homeland, for a purpose, and she wasn't sure she had fulfilled that purpose yet. "I can't go."

"You have to. You can hide out in the cellar until we figure out how to smuggle you out. No doubt they'll post guards to watch the place."

Hearing a commotion, she looked out through the tiny knothole. She watched as David was carried away by two Confederate soldiers. She wanted to stop the injustice. It took all her resolve not to run after them.

Ruth started to open the door after they'd left. Margie pulled the door back shut just as quickly as it had been opened. "Do you want to be locked up? Wait till dark."

"I wonder if David left anything in his room."

"I'll go see. You stay here."

"Get his watch too." That was at least one thing she could do for him. See that Michaela got it. She had no idea what she was going to tell her though.

Margie came back after dark with the watch and a piece of paper. It was a final note from David. It was hurriedly scribbled, almost illegible. He must have been able to hear them before they had got to his room.

_Please, tell Michaela I'm dead. It wouldn't be safe for her to follow, and I'll likely die. My health is poor, and it's doubtful I'll receive the same level of care I got here. Give her the watch. Let her draw her own conclusions if you must._

It was true he could die, and it was even more true that it wasn't safe for her to follow. And whether he lived or died, he didn't want to marry Michaela anymore. Maybe telling her he was dead was the only kind thing to do. Better than thinking the man you loved wanted to leave you. She knew that pain well.

So when she was sure that most would be asleep, she slipped out to find her, more than ready for the fresh air. She'd lived in the area only a year, but it was long enough to know how to slip through the countryside unobserved. Her aunt had been right about them posting guards. Just two, who were more interesting in playing a card game then doing their job, and she easily escaped past them.

Thanking God, she'd been a tomboy, she picked up a few small pebbles when she got to the boardinghouse and threw them up against the second-floor window that belonged to Dr. Mike with nearly perfect aim. It would have been a lot easier with a gravel flipper, but the tosses accomplished the job.

Dr. Mike poked her head out briefly before drawing back into the room. Ruth had wondered if she would still be there. She went to the cover of a big tree in the back and waited.

"What's the matter?" Dr. Mike asked her, her clothes thrown on haphazardly because of the lateness of the hour and her doctor's bag in hand.

"I have some bad news for you. And I'm hiding because I got some people looking for me, so don't tell nobody that you saw me."

"I won't," she promised, her eyebrows knit together in concern.

"I didn't want to tell you before. I didn't want to be the one to break your heart." She held up David's pocket watch. "I found this on a Union soldier when we were picking up patients shortly after the battle."

It was clear she recognized it by the way her hazel eyes filled with tears. "It was a gift from his parents when he got into medical school." She took it and opened it up. There was a photo of her inside, removing any hope she may have still had that it might be someone else's watch.

"It was easy to see it was your fiancé's from the picture. It'll be impossible to find him buried in a mass grave like they were. I reckon you'll go home now," she said, her voice choked in sympathy for the young woman.

"I have no reason to stay. I'll have to go another route. I hear Harper's Ferry was captured by General Lee only days after I went through."

"You're not far from Washington. That's the best way to go. God bless you, sister."

"And you. Thank you for telling me and returning this to me. It means a lot."

Sister Ruth couldn't bring herself to say you're welcome, so she nodded and went on her way. She was racked with guilt. Nothing she said had been an outright lie, yet she'd meant to leave Dr. Mike with the impression that he was dead. And he could very well survive if God so willed it, despite what he'd said. But she guessed David knew his own mind like Kid had obviously known his.

sss

Kid had kissed women when he was younger but never had the kiss touched his heart before. Never had the woman touched his heart. He just hadn't fallen in love with any of them, fine though they might have been. It was like he'd been waiting all his life to kiss Ruth McKenzie. To fall in love with her. And every time he closed his eyes, he could see her. Every time he thought about her, which was pretty much all the time, he remembered that searing kiss they'd shared. And he had to tell his feet to keep walking even though each step took him further from her.

If he was honest with himself, it scared him how much he was attracted to her. And knowing that he loved her frightened him even more. Did she love him, too, or had she been caught up in the moment?

But even if she did love him back, how could he subject her to the nightmares he had every night of the killings he had done, not just during the war but during all his many shoot-outs? Subject her to an unsure, hopeless future? He wasn't what she wanted even if she thought he was.

And perhaps the biggest barrier of all between them was God. She wanted him to believe, and he just couldn't believe God would accept him after he'd sent all those souls to their eternal destination.

Feeling chilled because of more than the autumn air, he fumbled in his bag for his blanket and found a Bible. When had she slipped her Bible into his bag? He caressed the black cover as if he could caress the woman it belonged to. The book was worn and dog-eared from constant reading. He wondered how many Christians could say that about their own Bible?

When he opened it, a note fell out,and he read it at once, eager to hear her words even if they were only on a piece of paper.

_For God so loved_ _Kid Cole_ _, that He gave His only begotten Son, that_ _when he_   _believeth in Him_ _he shall_ _not perish, but have everlasting life._ _F_ _or God sent not His Son into the world to condemn_ _Kid_ _; but that_ _Kid_ _through Him might be saved._

_I hope you remember me when you read from this holiest of books, but mostly I hope you remember that the Word of God shall not return void but will accomplish the Lord's purpose. I wish you all the best, and you'll always be in my prayers. I love you._

_Sister Ruth_

He traced the letters of her name before he ran a finger across the 'I love you.' She really loved him. Him? How had he been so blessed?

His eyes went back to the verses she had written. It was words he'd heard his whole life, perhaps the most well-known verse in the Bible was John 3:16, but he'd never applied it to himself before, but wasn't he the world? God loved him and that was more amazing to him than even Ruth's love. And all that He asked from him was to believe. Believe and he would have life everlasting. Not a might have but a would have.

He got down on his knees with his heart and eyes overflowing, and he prayed to be saved through Jesus Christ. He felt a peace afterwards like he'd never known before. After which, he got back on his feet with the intention of returning the book to its owner.


	17. Chapter 17

Did Kid imagine it or did the farm have a somber feel to it? Was it his own mood at not being sure how Sister Ruth would receive him? He'd only been gone a day, but he'd hurt her by leaving, and yet her note gave him hope.

It was her gray-haired, little aunt who came to the door and she didn't look a bit friendly as she asked, "Yes?"

"Ma'am, I'm looking for your niece."

"Yeah, you and about a hundred other Confederates."

"What?" he asked, confusion and fear gripping him at the same time. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you want with her?" she asked. She was eying him with suspicion.

He realized she probably didn't remember him. She'd only changed his bandage once. "I was one of your patients here, and I-I love her. I have to see her. Talk to her."

"She's with her uncle delivering wheat. You can't see her right now." She stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. "And if you're smart, you won't wait around for her. She's suspected of being a spy. I ain't got the time to deal with your silly infatuation. Love? What a foolish notion. Go. Get out."

He didn't know what to say. He just kind of stood there with his mouth hanging open. At least until she pointed and whispered, "Walk that way. Look for the big oak tree, and she'll be down below." In a louder voice, she said, "Didn't you hear what I said? Go! Get out of here."

He still wasn't sure he understood what was going on, but he did what she said. Margie hadn't seemed like she had bats in the belfry before. Of course, now he wasn't too sure.

He found the tree she must have been speaking of. What had she meant down below? He'd expected to find Ruth sitting against it, but he didn't. He started to go, but in a moment of inspiration, he kicked the thick pile of leaves in front of it, revealing a door. It was pitch black inside, but he descended the stairs. He almost tripped over a basket at the foot; he felt inside the basket and found a candle and match. He immediately lit it, revealing Ruth sitting on a pile of old blankets.

"I got something that belongs to you," he said, holding up both the candle and the Bible.

It was too dark to be sure, but he thought he saw her face light up right before it got an incredulous look. She was on her feet now, and she went over to stand in front of him. "You walked all the way back just to return it to me? I wanted you to have it."

"I know you did. And I read that verse you wrote. It finally helped me understand God loves me in spite of myself, and how can I not love Him when He did all that He did for me?"

He was unprepared for her launch into his arms. He had to lift the candle higher to keep her hair from catching on fire. "You truly are my brother now. My brother in Christ."

That statement shouldn't have ignited such warm feelings in him, but it did. It sparked a feeling of closeness to her that nothing in this world could ever erase. "Yes, I am. Your aunt told me a little of the trouble you're in. Why do they think you're a spy?"

She pulled away from him again, making his arms feel empty even though he still had the candle and Bible. "One of the patients I had was a Yankee, and I knew it. I didn't feel the need to turn him over. He was in bad shape health-wise and not a danger to the Confederacy or anyone else. Apparently that's enough to make you a spy these days."

"What are you going to do?"

"Leave for awhile, I guess. Until they stop looking for me. Unfortunately, there's no shortage of men needing care. I can be of use elsewhere though I hate to leave my aunt and uncle. They're having a hard time keeping up with the farm and the sick both, but winter's coming on, so I reckon it'll slow down for them some."

"Marry me."

It came out more abrupt than he'd intended and she looked at him like he had two heads. "No."

"I thought-well, never mind what I thought. I obviously misunderstood how you felt." He was still going to help her get away. He tried to focus on that and not the crushing blow to his pride and heart.

"I'm not saying I don't love you, you old coot, because I do, but you're only asking to help get me away from here, and that's no reason to get married."

"Yes, I want to protect you, but I also just want to be with you because I love you. I know I'm not a rich man. I don't even own a house. I'm not the easiest person to live with either. And my health is bad. I might not even make it to our first anniversary."

She started to laugh.

Annoyed, he asked. "What's so funny?"

"You. You're doing a poor job of selling yourself. But you know what? I love you, too, so my answer is yes."

He gave her a kiss, and it was as nice as the last time even for its brevity. "Well, now that that's settled who can we find to marry us?"

"I've performed weddings before, but I guess it's not really possible to marry yourself."

He grinned. "I guess not. And we'll need witnesses."

They both started when the cellar door lifted, but it was only Margie. "Did I hear someone mention witnesses? I'm so happy you found somebody to marry, Ruth. The timing of it can only be Providence. It'll be easy enough to arrange. I'll go get the preacher. I'll be one witness and his wife will be the other. You all need to be married and out of here by morning before Hiram gets back, and they maybe realize I lied." The cellar door shut again as she hurried to arrange it before they even had time to agree.

"Can the preacher be trusted?" he asked, handing her the Bible before going to sit over on the old blankets with her.

"Of course. She wouldn't be getting him or his wife if they couldn't. They were abolitionists before the war. Still are, I reckon. Their son's fighting on the other side. They're social pariah as you might imagine but really good people."

"Huh. What side are your sympathies with? I assumed it was the Confederacy since you and your family got that private hospital going."

"I've got a sympathy for both sides, but I'm no spy if that's what you're thinking."

"I didn't think that."

"I just do as I'm led, what God expects of me, within my own sphere of influence. The soldiers sometimes ask me if or tell me that God is on our side when what we should really be asking is are we on His? Each man has to answer that for himself. As for the outcome of the war, I believe God is in charge of that. I trust that whoever wins, it will be a part of the Lord's plans. Nothing good or bad happens without His knowledge."

"I thought you might look at it that way, and I can't say I disagree." He looked around. "It doesn't look and smell as disused as I thought it would."

"That's because we use it to hide runaway slaves."

There was a heavy pause before he said, "You're just full of surprises. You're an abolitionist then, too?"

"If that means helping people whatever their color escape abuse and injustice and preaching what God has to say in His Word about slavery to the masses, then yes I'm an abolitionist."

"I do believe that fits the definition of an abolitionist, but you know what? I don't think it's right to judge or enslave a man for his race either. My momma taught me to treat everyone with respect."

"So did mine, and I thought you might have felt that way from the way you acted towards Fannie."

He took another look around the small earthen room. "Are you disappointed you won't be married in a church?"

"I would've liked to have been married in a church, but the whole of creation is God's though I doubt anyone's been married in an abandoned cellar before."

"I'd say we're probably the first." He chuckled as he noticed the cobweb in her hair. "Your veil's original too," he said as he pulled it off and held it out in his palm so she could see.

She gave a look of disgust "I'm sure I look a sight. Didn't mean for my wedding dress to be this old gray one either."

"You look fine," he said as he dusted the cobweb off into the floor, "and it'll match my uniform. Appropriate too if you think about it. What does the poem say? Get married in gray and you'll go far way?"

They kept talking until the preacher got there on Ruth's part because she enjoyed talking and on his because he'd be tempted to do other activities if they didn't.

Margie accomplished the wedding arrangements quickly and came back with the intended parties and more candles.

The preacher seemed a serious-minded sort in contrast to his wife, who seemed to think this clandestine wedding fun and terribly romantic. Both were more than willing to serve in their roles, and they were reciting vows before he knew it.

"In the Name of God, I, Kid, take you, Ruth, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow." He was a little nervous as he said it just because he hadn't expected the wedding to happen so fast, but he meant every word.

Ruth radiated love and joy as she nearly always did, and his nervousness melted away. He was mesmerized by her as she recited her vows with great feeling that said she meant everything she said, too. "In the Name of God, I, Ruth, take you, Kid, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to obey, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

There was no ring to exchange, so they sealed the vows with a kiss and their signatures.

The preacher and his wife snuck away first. Margie lingered to say goodbye to Ruth. They were both crying tears at the parting, making him squirm a little. He didn't know how to handle weepy women. Thankfully, they didn't seem to expect him to do anything. Nonetheless, he was relieved when he and Ruth were on their way. Away from the spy trouble and alone with his bride.

sss

Nothing about their courtship, marriage, and now their honeymoon had been traditional, Ruth thought as she watched Kid get a fire going. And yet, there was nowhere else she'd rather be at the moment because she was with Kid even though she'd had to sneak away without anything but the clothes on her back and her Bible.

They'd found a clearing in the woods. Surrounding them was nothing but trees and the animals that lived in them. It was such a secluded place it felt a little like they'd found the Garden of Eden, and they were the first man and woman.

"You hungry?" he asked her as he sat down beside her on the blanket. "I've still got some hard tack. I plan to go hunting tomorrow for something more substantial."

"No, not really," she said, her voice coming out kind of squeaky. She watched the sparks fly and the flames dance, unsure of what to do next.

"I've got a bad fever," he said.

Her nursing instincts kicked in, and she turned towards him immediately, hand going to his forehead. "You don't feel hot."

"But I am and only you can cool me down."

She realized then he was teasing her to loosen the tension and rewarded him with a smile. He tilted her chin up and kissed her until she felt dizzy.

He laid her down carefully and tenderly. He removed his shirt before kneeling over top her. The blaze of the fire made his skin glow tantalizingly and though it wasn't the first time she'd seen his chest, she heard herself gasp. She ran a finger over the new scar on his side. "You've healed up nicely."

He took her hand and kissed it. "I had a good nurse. In fact, she makes me feel good all over."

"Is that right?"

"That's right," he said, his lips finding hers again after he freed her hair.

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the ripple of the muscles in his back as he helped her with some of her clothes.

It felt a little like she was drowning in his love, drowning in him as he turned her breathless. It was a sensation she'd never expected to feel pleasant.

His eyes met hers, and the fire crackled and popped as if caused by the incineration taking place between them instead of in the wood.

With so few garments between them now, she was more able to feel his body against hers, and her back arched because of it. "Please," she cried, not even sure exactly what she was begging for except that she needed more of him.

He responded to her plea by licking trails of fire on her exposed skin and removing the last of the barriers. She was so warm by this point, and she wasn't sure if it was the heat from the fire or the heat created from her lover, her husband. And just when she thought she might be consumed by it, there was sweet deliverance as she watched a falling star shoot across the night sky.

sss

The fire had all but died. It only flickered and smoldered now, but he had no intention of getting up to fix it. Not with Ruth cradled in his arms.

He moved her long hair out of the way, so he could kiss the back of her neck. She was half asleep, but awake enough to make a moan of pleasure. He could hardly believe she was really his, and he was hers.

It almost felt wrong to feel so much pleasure and happiness when there was so much death and suffering taking place, and it was a reality he was about to face again as they were making their way towards his regiment, which was now in Tennessee. But he intended on making the most of their trip down, grabbing a little piece of heaven while he could. The hell known as war could wait.


	18. Chapter 18

_One and a half years later..._

Kid Cole smiled at his wife. She was where she was every day when he came back in from his early morning walk, on her knees.

He waited until she finished. It would have been rude to interrupt her conversation. "What'd you pray for today?"

"An end to this war and for the boys. Good Lord, Kid if you could see them. I thought I'd seen death and misery..."

The boys she spoke of were men who'd been sent to Camp Sumter.

"How was your walk?" she asked, getting up to her feet.

"Hot as..." he hesitated when he saw the look of warning she gave him. "...as a hot summer day."

"A better choice of words but not the most creative, considering it is a hot summer day." She was unable to keep herself from chuckling despite her formerly stern expression.

"I thought it was some quick thinking." It wasn't only a hot summer, it was a humid one, too. He missed the dry heat of the desert. He and Ruth had ended all the way up in Georgia following his regiment around. She had told him time and time again that she enjoyed being a camp follower, a soldier's wife who went with the troop taking care of the injured and sick, but it was a hard life and not the best way to spend married life. Though he hated his health being the reason for his discharge, he was glad for the reprieve. He didn't know if he could mentally stand to go through one more battle despite the fact that he hadn't received any more battle wounds. His comrades had teased him that it was Sister Ruth's prayers that kept a bubble of invulnerability around him, and he wasn't so sure that there wasn't some truth to that. But her prayers had done nothing for his consumption, so here they were in Savannah.

Ruth was now rifling through her Bible. It was where she kept the money she collected, the green and brown bills with President Jefferson Davis' picture on it. Not a terrible place to keep it with thieves on both sides roaming around, using the wartime to their advantage to get away with crimes like breaking and entering. She also kept the letter she'd recently received from her aunt and uncle there, which she'd just run across. "Such a shame they took all their food and then burned the farm down on top of that. That was just pure meanness. It was fortunate they stopped doing the hospital or lives may have even been lost."

"At least, they had family in southwestern Virginia to go to. Do the Yankees think destroying people's homes and living is going to create loyalty to the Union?"

"I don't think most of them care." She counted the money then said, "I've collected enough clothing, food, and money to take to Father Whelan again. Since tomorrow's Sunday, I better get it done today."

"Andersonville's dangerous; men are murdered there. I should be going with you."

"No. You were let out for a reason to rest until you feel better. And there's no need to worry. They respect me there, the guards and prisoners, the same as they do any minister. Father Whelan the most because he's there the most, and I'm always with Father Whelan."

"Will the guards even let them have the things you bring?"

"They will and do. There's some unkind guards there, it's true, but they're not starving them on purpose. It's the lack of resources. Everyone in the confederacy is going a little hungry these days. But God is good. We pray, and He provides."

She did seem to pull food and donations out of thin air. And she always believed it would come just by asking, and so far, she was right. Every time he started to doubt her prayer for basic necessities would be answered, it was. Even if, with the exception of a few wealthy citizens, the people of Savannah were feeling the financial constraints war brought in no small part about because of a Union blockade that kept the city from exporting rice and cotton.

He wanted to argue with her more, but they'd had these arguments before to no avail. If she felt she was doing the Lord's work, she'd go right up to the gates of hell, and the truth was he just didn't feel up to going along in his condition. And she'd always come back okay physically. Emotionally was something else entirely. Needing a distraction, he picked up his guitar.

He had purchased it right here in Savannah. On the wings of music, he could forget about his illness and the war raging on around them. He was even trying his hand at writing a song for Ruth. Most times though he just played familiar ballads and hymns. He played a song he'd learned around the campfire from his comrades.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory  
of the coming of the Lord;  
He is trampling out the vintage  
where the grapes of wrath are stored;  
He hath loosed the fateful lightning  
of His terrible swift sword:  
His truth is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!  
Glory, glory, hallelujah!  
Glory, glory, hallelujah!  
His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watchfires  
of a hundred circling camps,  
they have builded Him an altar  
in the evening dews and damps;  
I can read His righteous sentence  
by the dim and flaring lamps;  
His day is marching on.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!  
Glory, glory, hallelujah!  
Glory, glory, hallelujah!  
His day is marching on."

She'd gotten all the donations together and put her hat and shoes on while he'd played. She was standing in front of him now. "Amen. I could listen to you play and sing all day."

"Then why don't you?"

She leaned down and kissed his lips. "You know why. They need these things, and maybe I can do some faith healing while I'm there."

"If you didn't have such a big heart, I wouldn't love you so much, but I wish it didn't mean you going to Andersonville."

"I'll be back before dark. There's some pork and bean soup leftover from last night. And I made some biscuits and an appleless apple pie this morning that ought to do you till I get back."

He perked up. Ruth's biscuits were so light they could float and though appleless apple pie would have been better with apples, she did wonders making due with limited supplies. The pie practically melted in your mouth. If not for her good cooking, he might be in worst shape physically thanks to his suppressed appetite. "Be careful," he warned. "I love you."

"I love you. Make sure you eat."

sss

Sister Ruth took the train to Andersonville, which ate up the rest of the morning.

Logs of pine surrounded the prison. It was a wall that really needed expanding due to overcrowded conditions. Her shoes were covered in black mud by the time she got through the gate.

One of the guards had gotten Father Whelan for her, and she handed over the bag of collected clothes, food, and money to the priest. "I wish it was more."

He smiled and despite being only a few years older, he said, "No, my child. Every little bit helps and can be used by God."

They walked as they talked. "You're right about that." She admired the man's faith. A lot of Protestants disparaged Catholics, but it was a Catholic who was answering Jesus' call to visit the prisoners and the sick. It was this Irish cleric, who was putting his faith into action. "There are a lot more men than last time I was here."

"Hundreds arrive every day. I'll take you to the sickest. Perhaps you can ease their suffering through the healing gift God has given you."

Speaking of sick, Sister Ruth felt like she was going to be. The creek flowing through the compound was filthy. It hardly resembled water so polluted it was, and it looked and smelled worse every time she came. She had to steel her stomach and try to focus on something else.

"Men, other priests, haven't been able to keep from being sick," he said when she started to gag. "If you want to leave, I understand."

"No," she said, praying for relief and the strength to withstand the sights and sounds and smells around her. "Lord willing, I can do this."

The men were covered in lice and sometimes maggots. She never sat down there for fear of the vermin getting on her, and they would have if given half a chance. The men who weren't newly arrived looked like skeletons with skins, so hungry were they. Some had no clothes and some might as well have not had clothes they were in such a dirty and torn condition. No prisoner was buried with clothes on as the scraps of cloth were needed too much. And the desperation and the evil in some of their souls drove a number of the captives to steal and to murder from their fellow prisoners over food or the like. And so many were sick, more than half, with sicknesses that could be cured with simple necessities and medications. It made Sister Ruth want to cry. She did cry.

There were no decent shelters for most of the prisoners. Only scraps of woods and blankets or whatever else they could get together fashioned into pitiable shanties, thanks to the inflated price of lumber. The lucky ones had tents. The ones who were in the "hospital".

It was hard to know where among the roar of murmuring, yelling, sometimes praying men to begin, but Father Whelan directed her into a tent.

She got down in a crouching position beside the patient and took his hand. It was hard to guess his age with a scraggly beard covering his face, his shriveled skin, and his sunken eyes. He could have been anywhere between 20 and 50. "Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, brother?"

"Water," he mumbled.

Father Whelan fetched it, but it did little to quench his thirst.

Sister Ruth tried again. "Do you know the Living Water?"

He nodded lethargically.

"Good. Do you believe that He can heal you?"

Hesitation this time.

"Believe, brother. Believe on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and ask to be healed." It was God who did the work, the healing, she'd always known that. But she'd learned something healing among all these dying men. Sometimes their time was now, no matter the strength of their faith. Sometimes the answer was yes, and a man received healing. Other times it was wait. But whatever the case, the Lord's will was always accomplished. "He hears your prayers. I'll pray for you, too."

She prayed with him out loud then and there, and it was one of those times when the answer was yes. Color returned to his cheeks and a clarity of mind that had been lacking previously. "Praise God. Hallalujah!" she exclaimed.

The soldier had, of course, noticed the change in himself. "It's a miracle."

"Yes. God is moving, bringing witness to Himself even in a place that seems utterly hopeless. You should share it with the others. It'll give them hope that God has not forgotten them."

As she and Father Whelan came out, she heard two men in the next tent talking.

"Andrew, look at this, am I going to die?"

"I believe we're all going to die here, but to answer your question, it's gangrene. If you let some of the maggots eat the dead flesh, you'll be rid of it. You can find plenty enough around here."

"Are you crazy?" the man hollered.

"They won't eat the living flesh. It's unpleasant, but it's your best chance of survival. Or you can have one of the Confederate surgeons cut it off with no medication or bandages and get maggots in there anyway."

Silence and the man with gangrene came out clutching his arm as if he could already feel the maggots eating away at it though he hadn't put any on the wound yet.

She went into the tent, eager to meet a fellow healer. More medical help from someone who was here all the time was just what this camp needed, an answer to a prayer.

She hadn't recognized the voice, but she recognized the man. She knew him by his injuries, the patch over his left eye and his unmoving legs. The blue of his iris was the same, but the rest of him was so physically changed, she would never have guessed it was him if not for the previous clues. No doubt, it was a result of the hard life spent in prison camps. "David?"

**A/N: Father Whelan was a real historical figure.**


	19. Chapter 19

David looked at Sister Ruth, but it was almost as if he looked right through her. Like he was past feeling pesky emotions like surprise or pain or interest. "I go by Andrew these days."

"Why're you going by a fake name?"

"It was the name of a friend. We served together, and he died in my arms in a prison camp not much better than this one. I'm as good as dead. My family already thinks so. And even if I survive, I don't want to go home like this. It's better to assume his identity this way."

"Better for who?"

"Don't start on me. I don't have the strength for it. Did you give Michaela the watch?" He didn't even raise his head up. His eye had gone back to staring at the tent ceiling.

Her lips were tight with concern. "I did."

"Sometimes I wish I'd kept it, so I could see her sweet, beautiful face again instead of only in my dreams and memories."

"There's an easy way to fix that."

Silence was his only answer.

"Talk to me. What can I do for you? Can I bring you anything?"

"You've done enough. If you really want to help me, leave."

She wanted to say more, but Father Whelan tugged on her arm to tell her it was time to go. She went with him, but she was determined to visit with him again the next time she came. She felt personally responsible for what had happened to him since he'd been under her care when he'd been captured.

She visited with other patients until well into the evening, healing some and trying to bring cheer to others. One tent had been so crawling with fleas, she'd gotten bit in more than one spot and had had to do some unladylike scratching when no one was looking. She was bone weary and soul weary.

She finally did end up heaving out the little that was in her stomach when she passed the pile of poor, naked bodies free at last of earthly suffering, their burial taking place with no ceremony. They'd been baking in the heat all day and the smell of death was unmistakable.

As she was leaving, Father Whelan walking her to the gate, she saw one of the guards, a boy not even shaving yet, climbing down the ladder from his perch, where he watched to make sure the prisoners didn't escape. He wasn't burned to a crisp like many of the prisoners thanks to the short roof.

"Surely there's something more that can be done for these prisoners," she said, wasting no ceremony. "Christian charity demands it. They need food. They need water."

"Some of the prisoners are working at digging wells. Maybe they'll have some luck. And as for the rations, ma'am, they're the same as the guards get: a little bit of cornbread, half a pint of beans, and 2 ounces of bacon."

Except the guards had the freedom to go hunting to supplement their diet and some of the surrounding Georgians took pity on the guards, who were made up of boys too young to be fighting or men that were too old, and brought them gifts of food. "Maybe if you let some of them out to hunt?"

"I'm not the captain. I wouldn't have that authority. He's the one you need to talk to, ma'am. But I don't think he'll want to risk them escaping."

"How many of them can in their condition?" Father Whelan mumbled.

"It's sad, but it's war. War ain't pretty. If the Yankees had been more cooperative, we could be exchanging prisoners. And they're making medicine and food impossible to get."

"Couldn't you build some traps and bring meat to them?"

"Why should I? If you ask me, it's the Yankees' fault, so let them take care of their own men, and I bet you they ain't taking care of ours. If you'll excuse me, I have some things to get done."

He tipped his hat at her and left them standing in the mud. He wasn't being vindictive or purposefully cruel towards the prisoners. He just didn't care to do anything about their suffering. There was a name for that sin, indifference. Knowing the right thing and not doing it was the same thing as doing an actual wrong. She prayed for his soul and for his eyes to be opened.

She would talk to the captain, but it was getting late, and she knew Kid would worry. So saying her goodbye to Father Whelan, she went through the gate she'd come through. Her heart was heavy, but then she heard the sound of singing.

They were having a different kind of camp in there, a camp meeting. And her heart lightened as she heard them singing:

"Breathe on me, Breath of God,  
fill me with life anew,  
that I may love what Thou dost love,  
and do what Thou wouldst do. "

sss

The sun was preparing to set as she came into the house and she was pulling at her blouse with her Bible-free hand to create space between her wet skin and the damp fabric of her dress.

It appeared she'd woken Kid from a nap. His mouth had been hanging open and his eyes shut when she'd first walked in, but he was awake enough now to take in her appearance. "You're drenched. I'm guessing it ain't cooled down none?" Something he could have surmised himself since he had the windows open to let in the occasional cool breeze.

"It's almost as hot as that place you didn't mention. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that Camp Sumter is situated directly above it."

"You must've had a day."

"I did, and guess who I saw there?"

"Someone we know?"

"David, the Yankee who couldn't talk or walk at the farm. He still can't move, but he can talk now. Remember how I told his fiancée, the doctor lady, in so many words that he was dead? I've been eat up with guilt ever since. I shouldn't have lied even if I thought I was doing David a favor. I knew better. I asked God for forgiveness, of course, but I had no way to make it right with Dr. Mike. No words of comfort about his fate, but now I know what happened to David. I can tell her."

"You got her address?" he asked as he shifted in his seat.

"Not exactly, but I know she lives in Boston."

"Honey, Boston is a city, not a town. Do you know how many people live there? Probably close to a quarter of a million. You can't just leave a letter at the post office and wait for her to pick it up."

"But I know she's a doctor. That narrows it down some, don't it?"

"Well, I suppose you could have a special notice printed up in a paper and hope she or someone she knows sees it."

"That's a good idea. It'll have to be brief but understandable." She should've waited until she had enough daylight to see by, but she lit one of the smoky tallow candles instead, her conscience not letting her rest until she got the words on paper.


	20. Chapter 20

"You should consider at least going to half mourning. Add some purple to your wardrobe. David wouldn't have wanted you to spend your life mourning," Elizabeth chastised her daughter.

Michaela stirred some maple sugar into her coffee. "First, I'm not mourning enough and then I'm mourning too much."

"I was right, wasn't I? You should have been wearing black, but enough time has passed. More than enough. If you hope to have a marriage and children, it's time to wear color again."

"Mother, please, how many times do we have to talk about this?" she asked, taking a sip of the steaming brew.

"Until you listen."

Josef Quinn had been safely hiding behind the paper during their argument, but he lowered it now and folded it, so he could hand it to Michaela. "Read this."

She didn't know what he wanted her to read, but his finger pointed to one of the personals before she could ask. "Here."

_Sis. Ruth of Virginia relayed a message to Dr. M. Quinn of Boston. David is well in Georgia. Write by Flag of Truce or the Savannah Republican. Love and Prayers._

"I don't believe it. How is this possible?"

"Please, tell me it's an end to this war," Elizabeth said, craning her neck to see what the news was.

"It's David. He's alive. It's from a lady I met in Virginia. She's the one who gave me his watch." It was shock she felt the most, but happiness and relief worked its way to the surface until it showed itself in a smile.

"And you believe it because it's printed in the paper? What if it's some kind of trick?" Elizabeth argued. "You can't trust a rebel."

"I can trust her."

"Michaela Anne Quinn, did you make friends with the enemy?"

"There are good and bad people everywhere, Mother. I was reminded of that when I went down there. I'm going to send a message through the _Savannah Republican_ to let her know I'm coming and then I'm going to Savannah."

"They're tearing up track left and right. How do you expect to get through?"

"On foot if I have to. I know it's dangerous, but you've read the reports of the rebel prisons. The prisoners are dying daily. It may be my only chance to see him again."

"That does little to reassure me, reminding me of how inhumane those people are."

"If I were the one in prison," Josef asked his wife, "would you come to me?"

"Of course, I would, but you're my husband," Elizabeth responded, brushing the comment away.

"And they're in love." He looked at Michaela, "You have my blessing, Mike, though I hate the thought of you being all the way in Georgia."

"You're insufferable," Elizabeth said, standing up and throwing her napkin down angrily, "You always give her whatever she wants, indulge her every whim no matter how ludicrous, whether it's a medical degree or a one-way ticket to her demise. Well, you don't have my blessing though that hardly seems to matter to the two of you!" She stormed out of the room and up the stairs.

Michaela looked regretfully after her.

"Don't worry about your mother," he said, patting her hand. "I've still got some of the old charm left. I'll smooth things over. She's just worried, you know."

"That seems to be a common ailment these days. I must get a reply posted and pack. Every minute counts." She kissed his balding forehead. "Thank you. You don't indulge me; you just support and believe in me. I love you. If I can make the arrangements quickly and don't get a chance, tell Mother I love her, too."

sss

The train was behind schedule in Elmira, New York thanks to some loose cattle, which allowed passengers to stretch their legs and get something to eat while the tracks were being cleared.

Elmira had a prison camp, Camp Chemung. She'd read an article that spoke highly of the humane treatment prisoners received there. With a morbid curiosity, she walked in that direction and froze in her tracks when she got close enough to see what was going on. There was an observation deck just higher than the thousands of dotted white tents that were pitched inside the wooden walls. At the entrance was a man selling tickets for ten cents to walk it. And in front of that, there were vendors selling refreshments for those who walked across.

And to top it all off, it was a Sunday, a day when people should have been especially delighting in the things of the Lord, but they were about as far from Him as they could be in this moment. She could almost picture Jesus knocking over their tables like He had with the moneychangers.

It wasn't just a few passing the most holy day of the week in such a macabre fashion, there were lots of people taking advantage of the deck. Some were fellow passengers, but some were no doubt locals. They were treating the prison camp like the zoological park Philadelphia planned to open. Like they were at a fair or a circus and viewing exotic caged creatures from the Orient.

She paid the ten cents only because she wanted to see for herself how the conditions truly were. She wanted to see that the Union was treating captured prisoners better than the Confederacy was even if they were selling ringside seats.

She didn't even come close to being comforted. She saw a black driver come out of the gate in his wagon, and she counted six pine coffins in the back. She could count at least a dozen more yet to be taken from her vantage point. Was that the number of deaths in one day?

The people around her snacked on ginger cakes, peanuts, crackers and sipped on lemonade and beer while those below the observatory starved and thirsted. For she could see from where she stood that the men were entirely too thin and poorly dressed. Some of them looked sickly. When winter came, if they were still half-dressed with only tents for warmth, they were going to freeze to death. And there'd be even more pine boxes.

A three-year-old purposely spilled his peanuts over the side, and his mother snatched him by the arm, fussing mightily. Did he see what Michaela saw even at his tender age and was moved to feed them? No wonder they would be led by a child. She gave him a smile as he passed her.

Then she turned her sight back to the scene before her. A horrified tear slipped out of her eye. Conditions were as bad as they were at Andersonville. The papers were lying to them, so they could keep a feeling of patriotism and pride. And maybe they were even worse, treating starving people like entertainment when the food here was plentiful and cheap thanks to all the surrounding farms.

A man in uniform with a long, graying beard and heavy eyebrows approached her. "You look as if you're in some sort of distress, madam. My name's Captain Hoffman. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can. I would like to assist the doctor here. I have three hours before my train leaves again, and I want to spend it doing something useful."

"You're a nurse?"

If she said she was a doctor, they might not let her in. "Yes."

"I suppose that's alright with me, but I think your three hours could be better spent."

The conditions of the patients in the hospital was nothing like she'd ever seen before. Men's wounds remained undressed. The blood was not even washed from their limbs, and it looked as if they'd been in such a condition for days.

After receiving a quick introduction to the doctor in charge, the doctor said in an uncaring tone. "Do what you can for the devils."

Having plenty of bandages in her bag, she got to wrapping right away. In some cases, the clothing had adhered to their wound, and she did her best not to hurt them as she pried the clothes loose.

She worked nonstop two hours and then she watched from the corner of her eye as one the doctors went around administering the same medicine to all the patients in the room. He got called away to assist in a surgery, and he simply set the bottle he'd had down.

She went over to take a look. It wasn't labeled, so she sniffed the contents, and the smell of almonds wafted up. It was arsenic, a poison that was useful in treating syphilis and psoriasis, but the doctor had just administered it to all these men in a lethal dose. Four or five drops was too much. He was either ignorant or...she was in the presence of a killer. There was nothing to be done for these men now, but she could assure it didn't happen again.

She found the chief surgeon, the man she'd been introduced to, Dr. Sanger. She was intent on letting him know the mistake the doctor under him was making, but she overheard Dr. Sanger remark to another doctor proudly, "I have killed more Rebs than any soldier at the front."

She went back for her bag and then she ran. No wonder one of the soldiers, whose wound she'd dressed, had called this place Helmira. She agreed with him now wholeheartedly. It wasn't neglect taking place here; it was murder, and there was nothing patriotic about it.

She only felt like she could breathe outside Camp Chemung's walls. She leaned against a closed store and struggled for air. Dr. Sanger was proud that he was a murderer, and for the first time, Michaela was ashamed of their side.


	21. Chapter 21

"You must be getting better, you popped one of my buttons last night," Ruth said.

Kid chuckled in response.

"Don't laugh," she said, already down on her knees. "Get on the floor and help me find it, so I can mend it."

He got down on the rough floorboards. "I am feeling stronger. The walks seem to be helping. I think I'll go with you the next time you go to Andersonville."

"That'd be nice. Well, not nice. but you know what I mean. I'd appreciate the company," she said, simultaneously feeling under the bed. "Where on earth did that button fly off to?"

"Well, if we don't find it, I'll buy you some new ones."

"That was one of my good buttons. We may have to use it to barter with before it's over."

"I'll pick up somebody who's wanted if we need to make ends meet. You don't have to worry about that."

"Not the escaped prisoners, Kid," she pleaded.

"Not the prisoners," he agreed. "Someone who truly deserves justice."

"It still makes me uneasy to think of you going after somebody with your gun. I believe this war has created enough widows as it is."

"I promised to take care of you when we got married, and I aim to do that however I have to."

"I don't remember the part where you promised to buy me buttons," she said. She was teasing now, feeling the need to lighten things up.

"Aha!" he cried, finding it under the wardrobe. On their feet again, he presented her the mother-of-pearl button. "Your fastening, my lady."

"Now you won't have to gun men down to keep me dressed," she said with a grin. "Come get a fire started for me, and I'll be working on breakfast, trying to forget what real coffee and pancakes taste like."

"I don't know. Rice cakes have kind of grown on me."

"I shouldn't complain. We have enough to eat, praise be to God, and that's more than some have. There won't be any meat today, but we'll have all the black-eyed peas we can hold."

"Sounds good, honey," he said, opening the door, so the kitchen wouldn't get too hot. On the stoop was a newspaper and a bucket of milk. "Somebody was kind enough to leave us the paper and some milk."

She wiped her hands on her apron to get the iron residue from the griddle off her hands before she looked at the paper. "How kind. I wonder who? The Lord will bless them whoever they are." She found the personals. "Dr. Mike got our message, and it says she's coming to Georgia."

"A lady shouldn't be traveling in times like these," he said with a shake of his head. "I hope she don't meet up with no trouble."

sss

Michaela could not get back on the train, knowing she had done nothing to stop mass, cold-blooded murder from a doctor no less.

She had to talk to the captain. Surely if he knew how unfeeling the surgeon was, he would get someone else immediately. Though it was the last place she wanted to be, she went back inside to speak with the captain.

"Thank you, Miss Quinn," he said when he saw her. "I'm sure Dr. Sanger appreciated your help, however temporary."

"I'm not so sure. I saw and overheard something very concerning to me. One of the doctors overdosed the patients on arsenic. When I went to talk to Dr. Sanger about it, I heard him saying he'd killed more rebels than any other soldier like it was a badge of honor."

"I'm sure it was all an honest mistake. Nothing to worry about. I'll have a talk with him later."

Except he didn't sound as if he really would. "Maybe you misunderstood me. There are prisoners in the hospital that are dead right now from poisoning."

"I heard you, and you should go. You wouldn't want to miss your train."

"If you ignore this, you'll become an accomplice to his crime."

"It's not a crime when there's a war on. This is exactly why women shouldn't be nurses. It makes them too distraught, and it makes them think they know as much as a doctor. A hospital is no place for a hysterical woman."

"I am not hysterical, and I'm more than a nurse. I'm a doctor, and if you think I'm going to ignore this gross injustice, you're terribly wrong."

"Good day, Miss Quinn." He firmly locked her out of his quarters.

She checked the time. She had to get back to the depot before she missed the train.. David needed her. But she fully intended that others would know what was happening in Elmira. She would talk to President Lincoln himself if she had to. Someone somewhere had to do something about it.

Much later as she was traveling through the Shenandoah Valley, the Breadbasket of the South, and saw all the burned homes of the civilians, the scarred earth multiplied the shame Michaela on behalf of the Union. She thought of the refugees and hunger such actions created. She still prayed they won the war for the sakes of the slaves, for equality, but evil was running rampant on both sides. And the sooner the war was over and the prisoners allowed to return home, the better. She hoped and prayed it was before winter.

She'd fallen asleep at some point. She looked out the window. Palm trees. She'd never seen palm trees before. She could also see that she was in a large city, and that everyone was getting off. It was the end of this track, which meant she was in Charleston, South Carolina.

It was time to transfer to the track that would take her to Savannah. She reached down to get her bag that was sitting at her feet, but it wasn't there. She looked in the empty seat beside her, in case someone had moved it, but her bag wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Panic swept through her. It wasn't only her doctor supplies in there. She had hidden the money for the rest of her trip in her medical bag because she kept it with her at all times.

She rushed to talk to the porter. "My bag's been stolen. It was black, a doctor's bag."

"Calm down. Did you check over there?" he asked, gesturing towards the platform. "Maybe it got placed with all the other bags and trunks."

He walked with her to check. She went ahead and got her trunk, but her bag wasn't among the luggage.

"I had it with me. Someone had to have taken it."

"I'm sure it'll turn up. Tell me where you're staying, and I'll have it brought around to you."

"I'm not staying, and I haven't bought my ticket to Savannah yet. My money was in my bag. What am I supposed to do?"

He shrugged. "File a report with the sheriff? Or wait at the station to see if we locate it? That's up to you, ma'am," he said before turning away.

What were the chances the sheriff would want to help a Yankee woman or that it was just going to appear somewhere in the depot? If the bag did turn up, abandoned, there was no chance the money was going to turn up with it and as valuable and rare as medication had become in the south, they weren't likely to leave her supplies in there either. It was useless to hope.

She looked down at her trunk. Her clothes were bound to be worth something. And the handle of her mirror was made with silver. Surely she could find someone to buy them and get the money she needed to finish her trip.

Her hair stood up on end. She got the distinct feeling she was being watched. As she looked around her, she locked eyes with a man, who was watching her with a most intense gaze.


	22. Chapter 22

"I want to talk with the captain to see what can be done for the men and then we can visit with them," Ruth said to Kid before they crossed the line that separated the entrance from the rest of the camp.

Kid's mouth was hanging open as he took in the sights, sounds, and smells of Camp Sumter for the first time. "Yeah. I don't blame you a bit."

Captain Wirz was a thin man, at least he was these days, and he had a dark beard that contrasted heavily with eyes so blue they looked ghostly. "The famous Sister Ruth. I've heard a lot about you. What can I do for you folks?"

"I don't even know where to begin. Maybe I'll start with the murders going on. Men killing men to rob them. Don't they have enough to worry about here without worrying about their brothers-in-arms killing them while they sleep?"

"Already taken care of. Their reign of terror is over. We tried and hung the leaders. The rest that were a part of it were given lighter sentences. I know it was mostly hunger that created the raiders, but that should deter others from making the same mistake."

"God have mercy on their souls," she said of the condemned men. "But it's good to hear it's been stopped. Isn't there something that can be done about the hunger itself?"

"I just paroled five of the prisoners to deliver a petition. Maybe when they see for themselves up in Washington how bad conditions are here, they'll reinstate the prisoner exchange. How can I feed over twenty-six thousand men or shelter them? Andersonville was never made for more than ten thousand. I wish I could give them more than army rations, but you know well that our own soldiers and civilians are going hungry, spending a good part of their day forging for food just to feed themselves and their families. What else can I do?"

"It does sound like you're trying, Captain Wirz," Sister Ruth admitted. "And I know what I gather is just a drop in the bucket."

"Father Whelan is good about seeing that the donated food gets to the most sick. Perhaps they'll all be on ships heading north before we know it. They can't be so coldhearted that the sight of those men doesn't move them to compassion."

"I'm sure you're right," Ruth said, willing a smile.

"I think the petition was a waste of time myself," Kid said when they'd left the captain. "They won't give us back our men when they know how low are numbers are. That's how they're counting on winning is by keeping our men and starving us until we surrender. We're sharper with battle strategy than they expected, and the war'll just drag on unless they fight dirty. If anything, it'll just make them madder and crueler to the prisoners they've captured."

"I pray you're wrong," she said, but she feared he wasn't.

"So do I, Ruth. So do I," he said, taking her hand. Sorry he's spoken the truth so plainly.

Father Whelan was walking their way, holding an umbrella to fend off sun rather than rain.

Ruth introduced Father Whelan and Kid and then they plunged into the teaming mass, getting pushed and shoved against each other because of the sheer number. Physical expansion couldn't keep up with the prisoner expansion. Past the firing line was the only place a non-prisoner could breathe without being crushed in the throng.

Ruth wanted to see David first. She wanted to be assured that he was still alive. "Good morning, David."

"I knew you'd be back," David mumbled in complaint. "And my name is Andrew Strauss."

Rather than argue, she said, "Do you remember Kid Cole? He's my husband now."

"Congratulations. How's the consumption?" he asked him.

"I've got good days and bad days. Sister Ruth takes real good care of me though."

"It's the Lord keeping you alive," she argued. "He numbers our days and yours ain't come up yet."

They realized maybe they ought not to be talking about death if they were looking to cheer David up, and the conversation came to an abrupt stop, but he didn't seem affected one way or the other. He had a far-away look. "You know where I'd like to be more than anywhere right now? In a meadow with a gentle spring breeze, the flowers in full bloom. Where life is simple and animals only kill when they have to."

"That does sound right pretty. You know the war can't last forever, Da-Andrew," she corrected. "And you heard they caught the raiders, didn't you?"

"More evil will rise up to take its place," he said with surety. "I think it'd be nice to live in a meadow. Nobody around but nature."

"Don't give up. People can surprise you. They're flawed because of sin, but sometimes they let the light of Christ shine through and then you realize how great and loving our God is and that this is what we were put here for, glorifying our Father in heaven."

"Hmm," he said noncommittally.

"You know, I believe that you could walk again if you asked Him."

"Goodbye, Sister Ruth," he said in a tone that said he had taken all he could take of her for one day.

She wasn't offended in the least and smiled at him. "Goodbye, Andrew."

sss

The strange man approached and though a part of Michaela wanted to run, she steeled herself, lifting her chin and meeting his penetrating eyes. "Yes?"

"I couldn't help overhearing," he said in a thick accent. "I can help."

"What do you mean help?"

"I just came from Georgia. I can show you the way."

"You mean on foot?"

"It'll take about a week, but it don't cost a dime."

She must have been crazy to consider going into the wilderness with a man she didn't know, but she was. Because she was out of options and she would do just about anything to get to David. "Why would you help me?"

He shrugged. "You look like you need it."

She couldn't argue with that logic. And there was something forthright in his manner. "You have yourself a deal, Mr..."

"Sully," he said, turning and walking away, apparently ready to start the journey immediately.

She took her trunk and started to follow him. "Michaela Quinn. I'm a doctor." He had no reaction that she could see to the information, unlike most men. That's why she gasped when he suddenly turned back around with no warning a few steps later. "Do you really need everything in that trunk?"

"Of course. Or I wouldn't have packed it."

No comment but that time she sensed definite displeasure. What kind of man had she gotten mixed up with?


	23. Chapter 23

Sister Ruth was knitting socks with a lady's group. They were sending the socks to the 61st Georgia Volunteer Infantry, which was currently serving in Virginia. It didn't feel like much and yet socks would keep the men's feet from freezing when winter hit. Winter in Virginia might be mild compared to some climates, but it was cold enough to freeze a man to death, and the mountains saw their fair share of snow.

"I'd like to see every single Yankee burn in hell," complained one of the women, and there was a chorus of agreements.

Ruth dropped the knitting needles in her lap, seemingly the only one shocked and concerned about the statement. "You don't mean that. Surely."

"I do mean that. I lost three sons to the war and a husband," the woman said, beet-red with anger. The only thing that kept her from shouting was her genteel breeding.

"And God knows and feels your pain, sister, but our enemy ain't flesh and blood."

"That sounds a little treasonous. Didn't your husband fight for the Confederacy before he took sick?"

"He did, and I love the South. There's something about it that gets in your blood, and a part of me is always homesick for it even when I'm taking revivals out west. But we've made our mistakes same as anybody. We haven't done right by our darker brothers and sisters. And furthermore, I prize my citizenship in heaven over my citizenship here. And that citizenship says I want all men, whatever their geographical origins or location, to be a part of the kingdom of God. We should never wish hell on anybody, not even the meanest man alive."

"You are speaking treason. Who is our enemy then, according to you?"

"Satan, who has been man's enemy since the world began. It would be foolish to think he's not at work, but it's easy to beat him. You just have to walk closer to Jesus by reading the Bible, learning, and praying. By loving Yankees and any other person popular opinion considers the enemy, you are resisting the devil. But if you hold onto hatred, you are falling into his trap to put distance between you and God."

The woman stood to her feet, worn and looking every one of her fifty or so years. "I will not suffer a Yankee lover in my house; you can spat all the God talk you want, but that's what you are. Get out!"

She looked around at the circle of women, not a sympathetic face among them. Ruth left the plantation house that was only a shell of its former glory, having fallen on hard times. She should've known she wouldn't fit in with them, but she wasn't sorry for having spoken the truth.

She'd always had a hard time forming female friendships. She was never anywhere long enough, and women generally considered her to be odd as a female evangelist who possessed the gift of healing. She'd also been single for most her life and childless, another reason for them to ostracize her. Too little in common and too free with her opinions.

That was one reason she was glad Dr. Mike was coming to Georgia. She felt like they could grow to be good friends despite their age difference. The other reason was that she was eager to see the couple reunited.

She hadn't gotten the chance to warn David that Michaela was coming. She didn't think he was going to feel positively about it at first, but she hoped he would soon understand just how powerful love could be and that he couldn't let a disability stand between them.

sss

Sully's clothes were ill-fitting. Almost like they weren't his. His hairstyle was not unusual, trimmed above the collar, but there was a piece the person who'd cut his hair must have missed because that lone piece did touch his collar. It seemed too rude to mention it though. It was lovely hair really, all told, golden brown with a slight wave. Michaela reprimanded herself silently for even thinking such thoughts, but it was nice hair. He didn't talk much, which she found somewhat unsettling.

She finally asked, "What is it you do, Mr. Sully?

"I'm a Union soldier."

"On leave?"

"No."

The silence hung heavy in the air. If he wasn't on leave and was roaming the countryside out of uniform, it meant he had deserted. And hadn't he said he'd just come from Georgia? That meant he was heading back towards danger. If they caught him, chances were they'd execute him.

The leather strap she held the trunk by snapped as the bottom hit a tree root. She groaned. It was so heavy. It was slowing her down and it was going to be hard to lug with no strap.

"I told you not to bring it," he said.

"It's all I have left, my ticket home. I can sell off the items in it to get the money I'll need."

He didn't say anything else. He just lifted it up onto his shoulder and started walking again. He was quite the enigma.

He also proved to be quite the forger. He found things in the woods for them to eat and drink. He gathered sassafras leaves that he then turned into a spicy tea, greens that tasted like spinach after he'd cooked them over the fire, and even chestnuts.

Michaela got into her trunk and spread out one of her dresses for bedding. Sully had made himself a bed of leaves far away enough to be respectable but close enough that he could protect her from wild creatures if need be.

"Why'd you join the army?" she asked.

She almost thought he wasn't going to answer her. "I wanted to stand up for what I thought was right, and I didn't really care if I died doing it. "

"What changed?"

"I didn't want to be an assassin, which is what they assigned me to be when they found out how good my aim was. I widowed a wife and caused two little kids to become orphans."

"I'm sure you had a good reason."

"There was a reason, a senator's greed over war contracts. It had nothing to do with winning the war. Since when was this conflict about money and politics? But then maybe it was all along. And I refuse to be a part of it anymore. I won't be."

"Well, I would be the last to judge you. I've come to question the war recently myself."

"Is that right?"

"I think good could still come from it, but it is far from good itself. It's bringing out the worst in some people. And even if we become united again, it'll be a long time before the north and south are truly one."

"There's going to be bitter feelings on both sides because of the cruelties that have been done," he agreed. "There had to have been a better way."

A wolf howled a mournful cry somewhere in the distance as if agreeing.


	24. Chapter 24

Sully was already up when she got up, and he looked as if he had been for awhile.

"You should have woken me," she said, unable to keep from scratching her neck. She had gotten bug bites in the night, since it was practically the only exposed part of her skin. She started to reach for a salve to control the itching and then remembered she didn't have her bag. "I don't want to waste a minute more than we have to getting there."

"Getting to Savannah must be pretty important to you. Most women would've asked to go back by now."

She got the impression that he'd silently added "like you" to most women. She did look out of place in the woods with her flouncy skirt, her fancy hat, and her gloves. "My fiancé is a prisoner in Andersonville. I have a friend in Savannah who's going to take me to him. Any annoyance I suffer is pale in comparison to what he's going through."

"That explains it. A person can endure a lot for love."

He sounded as if he spoke from experience. "Are you married, Mr. Sully?"

"My wife died giving birth to our daughter. I lost them both on the same day."

She wished she could take her words back. She sometimes asked too many questions. Her mother seemed to think so anyway, and she couldn't disagree with her in this moment. It was obvious it still caused him great pain from the way he looked away and the way his breathing seem to take more of an effort. He'd probably joined the war in an attempt to forget, and she'd just brought the sad memories rushing to the surface. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what that must be like, to lose a child. I do understand what it is to lose the one you love. I thought David, my fiancé, was dead for over a year. I'm still worried I could lose him."

"The day's not going to get any cooler. We should get moving."

She got the message: he didn't want to talk anymore about it. A quick breakfast of leftover chestnuts, raw instead of roasted this time, and then they were on their way again.

There was more wolf howling as they walked. They sounded so close. She wondered if she should be worried, but Sully didn't seem to be, so she didn't let it concern her. "I thought wolves only howled at night."

"They can howl anytime, day or night, but dawn and dusk are their preferred times."

More silence. Pulling words from him was like pulling teeth. She and David had never had that problem. The conversation had flowed so freely between them that they sometimes found the sun rising on them on the nights they stayed up to write speeches.

She couldn't wait to see David again. How had he not gotten a chance to write in all the time he'd been gone? And why had Sister Ruth had his watch? Sister Ruth hadn't been able to explain any of that in the notice. But for now she didn't care. She just had to get to him.

She froze in her tracks at the sound of a howl coming right from the bushes. It sounded kind of sick as it was more squealish than ferocious, but it was unmistakable.

Sully didn't carry a gun, which she thought strange given he was a soldier and had mentioned what an excellent shot he was. She didn't know what he was thinking walking over to the bushes, but he pulled out a wolf pup that was so little and doglike, it made her feel foolish for being nervous. No wonder his howl had sounded so pitiful.

"Are you in the habit of picking up wolves?" she asked.

"Only when they're abandoned like this one was. I have one of these back home. Ain't as red-looking as this one and he's full-grown now, but a wolf makes a good friend."

"I'll take your word for that." Who in the world had a wolf for a pet?

"Abigail loved wolves." She deduced that Abigail must have been his wife. "I found her a pup she could raise as a birthday present, but Wolf took to me."

"They are adorable-looking creatures," she said, going over and scratching the wolf pup's ears. "What happened to his mother, I wonder?"

"Could be he was rejected or maybe hunters got the parents. We can take him with us, and I can find him a pack to join after I get you to Savannah. He's still too little to feed himself."

"What happened to your wolf?"

"A friend's watching him for me, making sure he stays used to people for when I get back. I live out in the Colorado territory."

"That must be a good friend." What kind of friend agreed to watch a man's wolf? This place Sully was from sounded fascinating. Much different from Boston.

"He is. Got me through a dark time."

He must have referred to the time immediately after losing his wife and child, but she didn't think his dark time was over. He had such a melancholy air about him, which she now knew to be because of his loss.

He was whispering in the pup's ears in an attempt to calm it as it was getting restless in his arms, and he smiled at the tawny-furred little wolf. It was the first time she'd seen him smile. It was a beautiful smile that lit up his whole face, and she found herself unable to keep from smiling too.


	25. Chapter 25

"She should have been here by now," Sister Ruth said, tapping her foot against the station platform with nervous energy. "Her message said she was coming to Savannah by train right away."

"There could have been any number of reasons for a delay, especially with them tearing up track right and left. It's a wonder anybody gets anywhere these days."

"I hope that's all it is, but I don't think I'll be able to rest easy until she gets here."

Kid pulled a cigar out of his pocket. "I reckon now's as good a time as any to smoke. Give me something to do while we wait."

"Where'd you get that?"

The whistle of a train sounded, signaling the train was about to pull in. "One of the guards gave it to me when we were at Andersonville. We started talking while you and Father Whelan went in one of the tents and realized we fought in Murfreesboro together, so he gave me this cigar."

"A nice gesture but that don't mean you got to smoke it. You ever notice that people who smoke cough? I have and that couldn't be good for your consumption." She was eyeing it like it was a snake.

"And?" he asked, knowing there was more.

"And it stinks to high heaven. You smoke it and don't expect any kissing from me."

One of the exiting passenger caught the tail end of her words and craned her head back in clear disapproval of even talking about kissing.

Kid tapped the cigar against the palm of his hand as if he was thinking about which he preferred more, smoking or kissing. "Let me get back to you on that."

"Kid Cole!"

He laughed. "I'm only joking. If it bothers you that bad, I won't smoke," he promised, sticking it back in his pocket.

They waited until all the passengers were off, but Dr. Mike wasn't among them.

"Let's go talk to the station master," Ruth said.

The station master didn't look happy to see them, but then they'd been there every day this week. "I told you I'm watching for her. Believe me, I've got your address right here on my desk. I will send for you when she gets here," he said before she'd even said a word.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm just worried is all," Ruth told him.

"I understand, ma'am, but if ya'll will excuse me, I need to talk to the conductor about being more punctual."

Not knowing what else to do, they started down the stairs of the platform only to see Dr. Mike and a man they didn't know walking their way.

Ruth hurried her steps to meet them and brought Michaela into a hug, not caring she smelled more than a little like a wet dog or that her dress was coated in dirt. Ruth realized the smell probably came from the dog in the man's arms that strangely resembled a wolf. "Dr. Mike, am I ever glad to see you. We were afraid something happened to you."

At the mention of we, Michaela pulled away and saw Kid standing not far behind Ruth.

"I guess you didn't know I'd gotten married. You remember Kid Cole, don't you? He was the one helping me with the patients the day you came."

"Yes, I do. A little," she said, shaking his hand. "I ran into trouble in Charleston. My medical bag with all my money in it was stolen. Mr. Sully here escorted me the rest of the way. This is the friend I mentioned, Sister Ruth."

Sully shook their hands. "I believe I've heard of you both. It's nice to meet you all."

"You must live out west then, Mr. Sully," Kid guessed.

He nodded. "Just call me Sully."

"As long as you call me Sister Ruth," Ruth added. "Well, no sense in standing here baking in the sun. Let's all go to the house for something to drink, and we can talk more there. We've got a lot to talk about."

Michaela wanted to ask about David right away, but it was probably was best not to air their business in the streets of Savannah. She'd become a lot more cautious after losing her bag.

"Do you smoke, Sully?" Kid asked as they walked.

"No."

"Too bad. I was going to offer you a cigar, but it's just as well. Sister Ruth's liable to pull it right out of your mouth. She don't like it when people smoke."

"You still harping about that cigar?" Ruth asked with a roll of her eyes. "Tell me, Dr. Mike, do you think it wise for a man with consumption to smoke?"

"No, it's quite harmful in fact. It could worsen it a great deal."

"There you go. I rest my case," she said to her husband.

Kid's eyes only twinkled in response. He had just been playfully trying to get her dander up. It was plain to see they were both crazy about each other.

That's what she wanted, Michaela thought, to settle into married life with the man she loved. While still doctoring, of course. She could imagine life with David, opening up a practice together and working at the hospital side by side. They made such a good team.

Sister Ruth went to the kitchen for their drinks. Michaela was tempted to tell her to leave them, but Sully might have been thirsty, so she held her tongue.

She brought four steaming cups that for all purposes looked like coffee, but it was the most bitter cup of coffee she'd ever tasted.

"It's not real coffee. It's made with chicory root. Sorry," Sister Ruth apologized. "I should have warned you. I can mix in some more molasses to spice it up."

"No thank you," she said, not wanting any more delays. "When can I go see him?"

"We'll have to take the train to make it a day trip. We got a spare bedroom set up for you. I was figuring you could get a good night's rest and then we'll start out in the morning."

"How did you find him in Andersonville?"

"I volunteer there. I bring supplies and faith healing to the men. I just happened upon his tent by luck. Well, actually I don't believe in luck. I believe it could have only been orchestrated by God."

"I don't understand how he could have survived. You said you got this watch off a dying soldier. Did someone take it from him? Did he tell you anything about how he ended up there or why he couldn't write to me or his parents?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you," she said, looking guilty all of a sudden, eyes cast down and red with embarrassment. "I lied. I thought at the time I had a good reason for it. Do you remember the man with the bandages covering his whole head that couldn't speak?"

When Ruth received a nod from her, she continued. "That was David. We were hiding him out, but he ended up getting captured anyway. He knew you were there, but he didn't want you to know it was him because of how bad his injuries were. He wanted me to let you believe he was dead, and he gave me his watch, so you would have proof. I had my reservations, but I gave in because I thought you might not ever see him again anyway and that the watch would help you remember how much he loved you."

"Were? Is he better?"

"No. He can talk now, but he still can't move. I'm so sorry. What I did was very wrong. Can you ever forgive me?"

She swallowed hard, a definite lump in her throat. To think she had been so close to David. In the same room, talking to him and hadn't even known it. She was angry at both David and Sister Ruth for keeping it from her, but she was too relieved at the good news to hold a grudge. Especially since Sister Ruth was making things right now by getting in touch with her and taking her to him.

"I guess I can understand that. I haven't told David's parents yet. I was afraid to get their hopes up after all they've been through, and I'm not sure they would have believed me based only on a messenger from a Southerner."

"Thank you, Dr. Mike. You won't have to worry about me holding anything else back. Just be warned I haven't exactly told David yet that you were coming. I don't know how he's going to react."

Michaela thought that a strange thing to say, but given David's earlier actions, it might have been for the best. He would soon see she was going to stick by him no matter what.

"I'd better get going," Sully said, seemingly uncomfortable that he had stayed through all this conversation.

"Don't go," Michaela pleaded.


	26. Chapter 26

Everyone was a little stunned by Michaela's words until she explained. "What I mean is that it's too dangerous for you to go. You know the army's looking for you. Probably the Confederate army too. Sister Ruth has hid people before, so I know she won't mind hiding you. Or the pup," she said, shooting a smile at the young wolf going around and curiously exploring his new surroundings.

"Of course, I won't mind," Sister Ruth said, glancing towards her husband who nodded his agreement.

"That's awful nice of you both, but I wouldn't want to put you all in any danger. I'm a deserter, and I killed a prominent Georgia businessman. Like she said there's danger for me on both sides, and you all don't even know me."

"I wouldn't know what it's like not to live in danger," Kid said.

"And the way I see it is God knows what He's doing when He puts people in our path. He must want us to help you. The Lord is our shield and fortress always, so I'm not worried about it."

"Please," Michaela added. "You helped me. Receive some help in return."

"I guess they won't think of looking in a Confederate home," Sully agreed. "I'll stay for a time until I can make a plan to escape."

"Which is going to be hard," Kid said. "The Yankees got all our waterways blocked to keep us from trading with other nations. It's like having a giant anaconda wrapped around you, but maybe something'll present itself with time."

The Coles had a spare bedroom which Michaela took, while Sully took the couch.

The next morning, Michaela went with Sister Ruth and Kid to Andersonville, and Sully stayed behind. They paid for her train ride. Michaela fully intended to compensate the older couple for their kindness when she got back to Boston.

Michaela shuddered when she saw the squalor David had been living in firsthand. It was bad enough imagining anybody living in this wretched poverty, sickness, and filth, but when it was the man you loved, it made it all the worse.

"Back so soon?" one of the guards asked, immediately recognizing Sister Ruth. "Where are you getting all these donations from? Are you robbing banks or something?"

"There are none today. I wish there was. We're just visiting."

"Oh, she with you?" he asked, looking at Michaela.

"Sure is. She's got some medical skill that's going to come in handy, and you remember my husband?"

"Good to see you again, sir."

Kid gave a nod of acknowledgement for he couldn't honestly say there was anything good about seeing this place again.

They didn't wait for Father Whelan this time, knowing the way to David's tent. They stopped short of the flap.

"Do you want us to go with you?" Sister Ruth asked.

Michaela did feel jittery. She didn't know whether it was from excitement or nervousness. "No, it's best I speak to him alone."

When her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the tent, she gasped at the change in his appearance: the patch on his eye, the beard, the bone thinness, his manner. War had aged and changed him beyond recognition. She wouldn't have known him had she passed him on the street.

He looked at her as if he were seeing an apparition. Then anger marred his features. "What are you doing here? Never mind. I already know. Sister Ruth."

"You didn't want her to tell me?" she asked, pain stabbing her heart. Sister Ruth had warned her it would be like this. After all, he had known she was there in Virginia and had hidden behind the bandages, but it didn't keep it from hurting to hear his tone.

"Oh, David. What have they done to you?" she said, crouching down beside him, taking his hand in hers, tears glistening.

"Did she also tell you I can't move? I can't feel my legs. I'm nothing but a useless invalid now. I won't even get to complete my medical training."

"Don't say that. There are things you could try. I hear there are doctors using electrotherapy on those with paralysis."

"And I guarantee you, they haven't made one person walk again using electricity. Michaela, I am a doctor. Don't you think I would know if I could walk again? I've been this way for almost two years now. You're fooling yourself. Holding out hope where there is none. Would you tell another patient in my situation not to come to terms with his paralysis?"

"Well, then you can get a wheelchair. I still want to marry you. Nothing's changed."

"Are you mad? Everything's changed." He gave a quick glance to the ring he'd given her, the ring she still wore. "In fact, I'm breaking off our engagement."

The final blow to her heart. She felt it stop beating for a moment. "You're just upset."

"Don't presume to tell me what I am. I know my own mind. We were kids when we made our promises to each other. I wish you hadn't found out I was alive, but you have, and that's the truth of it."

"I love you," she said, tears now running down her face.

"And I'm very sorry about that." He dropped her hand.

He'd never not returned the sentiment before. Who was this man? Her David was passionate and sweet. This other version of David was cold and indifferent. How could he break off their engagement when she had traveled all these miles to see him? How could he not show the slightest emotion when she declared her love for him?

She got back up on her feet to go. She needed distance and time to think. She was going to fall to pieces if she heard anymore from him.

"Don't come back," he warned. "I don't want to see you anymore."

A strangled cry came from her throat as she escaped to the waiting Sister Ruth.

Michaela poured her heart out to Ruth on the way back to Savannah, telling her everything. How it felt as if she'd had her heart ripped out of her when she'd learned of David's death, and how it had just happened again to learn David was alive and didn't want to be with her now. Only this pain was even worse. A person couldn't help dying, but if he'd really loved her enough, he wouldn't let anything stand in their way.

"You shouldn't take anything he says personally. It's the pain talking," Sister Ruth advised when she'd gotten it all out.

She knew she was right, but she thought their love could survive anything. How could he push her away when he needed her most? If she were in the hospital, unwell, the first person she would ask for would be David.

Sully could tell something had gone wrong just judging from her appearance. "Is everything alright? Did you get to see your fiancé?"

"He won't let me help him. I love him with all my heart. Why won't he let me help him?"

Sully radiated sympathy. "Men are like that sometimes. We think we can do things on our own, and we forget women were made for a reason."

Michaela was in tears again, and before anyone could say anything else, she'd found her way into Sully's arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sister Ruth and Kid Cole went into the kitchen together.

"I don't know that she ought to be doing that," Sister Ruth commented as she started pulling out pots and pans for supper.

"Why? She ain't married to David," Kid pointed out.

"No, she ain't."

"And he did just break their engagement."

"I'm just afraid this is all going to end in heartbreak for David. He's going to realize he still wants her and then it'll be too late. She'll have moved on. And that's a nice man out there, kind and handsome."

"It was just a hug," Kid said, looking through the crack in the door. Michaela and Sully had already moved apart, looking embarrassed by their actions.

"I know it ain't the same as being in love, but that's how it starts. With a kind word and a touch. But I reckon what will be will be. God has a way of getting people where He needs them to be. It's just sometimes the course ain't always easy. Sometimes it hurts."

"I still think you're overreacting," he said, reaching over her shoulder and sticking a finger in the jar of preserves she'd pulled out.

She smacked his hand away playfully. "Time'll tell."


	27. Chapter 27

"We'll be back directly," Sister Ruth said, checking the pins in her hair before she put on her hat.

"If by directly, you mean all day," Kid complained.

She grinned. "You sound like you might miss me."

"I've a mind to lock you in. Seems like you're always somewhere else lately. Or we're doing something for the war effort."

"Aww, I'm sorry, honey. We'll spend a day together doing something fun, I promise." She kissed him, pulling away when Michaela entered the room. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," she said, adjusting her gloves.

"I hear you," Ruth said, and they left for the station.

Kid ambled towards the kitchen in the absence of the ladies. Sully was in the kitchen giving the wolf pup some water.

"Know much about fixing doors? I don't," Kid said with a chuckle. "Ain't never lived in a house long enough to figure it out. The door squeaks something awful, and it's driving Sister Ruth crazy. We're just renting the house, so I don't want to up and get new hinges."

"I'm almost in the same boat. Worked as a miner before I met my wife, but I did manage to get us a little house built. I can take a look."

Kid was relieved. Though he genuinely wanted to get the door fixed, he'd promised Ruth he'd have a talk with him about Dr. Mike and that was a lot easier over work.

"You got a rag somewhere?" Sully asked. "That's be the first thing I'd try is just cleaning it."

"I'm sure there are. Sister Ruth puts them up somewhere in here, I think," he said, starting with the basket on the floor and finally finding them tucked away in one of the drawers.

Kid took him to the squeaky hinge, and Sully pulled the pin out to wipe.

"Dr. Mike's a beautiful woman, ain't she?" Kid began.

"I noticed that about her right off. The second thing I noticed was her strength." He smiled. "Here she was in the middle of an unfamiliar city, no money, traveling alone, and instead of looking defeated, she just lifted her chin higher, determined to find a way through it."

"You sound like you really admire her."

"I do," he said, holding the pin to the light from the window to make sure all the grime and dust was off of it.

"You like her?"

He stopped to look at Kid. "What you driving at? She's in love with someone else. It don't matter what I feel."

"If she was single?"

"Maybe, but it's too soon after losing my wife and daughter. But if times and things were different, I admit I have a weakness for headstrong women. That's the first thing that drew me to Abigail."

"I can understand that. Being attracted to headstrong women. Believe me."

He chuckled then. "Yeah, I guess you can." He put back in and tried the door. Not a sound.

Kid was relieved. He'd thought Sully seemed like an honorable man and that he wasn't the type to swoop in and prey on Dr. Mike when she was feeling vulnerable over David, which is what Ruth had worried about. It was a shame really though because in another time or place, Michaela and Sully might have been perfect for one another.

sss

"Do you mind that we're going to Andersonville again so soon?" Michaela asked as they walked up to the dreaded prison camp.

"Not at all. But if you go again tomorrow, you might have to go without me cause I want to get some things together for them and to do that I have to visit and appeal to the better nature of them that can afford it. If Kid's up to it, he'll go, and if he's not, just ask for Father Whelan to take you around."

She nodded and braced herself to enter the gates.

There was a man with a grizzly beard and tobacco-stained teeth. He was yelling at a new group of men in a strong Swiss accent about how they were never going to fight for Uncle Sam again. She caught herself looking and turned away quickly.

"Who was that?" she asked when they were far enough away.

"Captain Wirz. I believe his bark his worse than his bite. A few of the prisoners made an escape, and he swore up and down he was going to punish them, but he never did. You'd have to be pretty hardhearted to blame a man for wanting to escape a place like this."

"That's very true." She forced herself to look on the underweight men. Many were covered in sores, hair matted, and a few had gangrene so bad, their sinew was exposed.

It wasn't their physical appearance that turned her stomach though, she'd seen worse, but it that the fact that under normal circumstances, she could do so much for them. If they were just getting the proper food, it would do wonders for their health, clearing up their scurvy and giving them the vigor to fight disease.

A prisoner passed by with his boot full of pea green soup accompanied with a slab of corn bread. They didn't even have bowls to use. Couldn't someone even get these men real containers for their food? But the man seemed grateful just to have the soup and was presumably trying to find a place to sit down and eat.

"Is it always this hot?" Michaela asked, her clothes sticking to her in a most uncomfortable way. She wished she'd thought to bring a fan. She could've cooled some of the prisoners off as well as herself.

"No, sometimes it's hotter," she said with a laugh. "You want me to fetch you some water?"

"No, I'll be fine. I'm just not used to the heat. Let's visit, so I can diagnose and hopefully treat these men." How much more she could do if she only had her bag she bemoaned again.

The first patient they saw had just got done throwing up. His vomit looked like coffee grounds. A few questions allowed her to confirm her suspicions and make a diagnosis, as well as dispense medical advice. "You need a bland diet. No smoking or drinking as it'll only upset your stomach. Tea would be good if you can get it."

He laughed bitterly in response. "You get what you get when it came to rations. Tobacco, alcohol, or tea aren't even in the realm of possibility."

Sister Ruth reached down and squeezed his hand. "You can pray, brother. Tea is good, made by the Creator, but prayer is better."

"Yeah, I can pray," he agreed, smiling his thanks. "It'll be thanks to Him if I get out of here alive."

Michaela frowned but followed Ruth to the next tent. This solider was bloated unlike most of the emaciated men, and he was short of breath. She recognized the condition on sight alone, anasarca. It was caused by starvation, and the treatment was a good diet. She knew the uselessness of diet recommendations, but with this one, she could offer at least one bit of advice. "Get exercise. I know it's difficult in these conditions, and you don't feel like it, but you need to take a long walk everyday at the very least."

The soldier nodded but didn't seem to take her advice seriously.

"She knows what she's talking about," Sister Ruth put in. "The lady's a doctor." To which came the familiar scoffing. "And you can always go to the Healer. Believe in the healing power of Christ, whose touch is not beyond these miserable conditions."

He nodded and prayed that very moment. Then he got to his feet. "I'll take that walk through His power."

Sister Ruth beamed. "Amen, brother. He's with you every step of the way."

This time Michaela frowned and colored with temper, but she kept control of her tongue as Sister Ruth led her to another tent.

An examination revealed this patient's illness to be alvine flux. So little was known about this particular ailment. Doctors didn't know yet how people contracted it or how one cured the condition, so she gave very general advice. "Be sure to drink plenty and rest."

Sister Ruth must have recognized the ailment too. It was common enough in camps and therefore she also knew that it was very likely to result in death. "Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Pray to Him now. Ask for His healing touch, brother. The same God that worked miracles of healing in the Bible wants to work miracles of healing today."

"I believe," he said, and she took both of his hands in hers.

"Feel His power. Lord, we ask that if it be Your will, You remove my brother's physical suffering. His soul is Yours and is body is Yours. We put everything into Your precious hands. Amen."

It didn't take him long before he cried, "I feel better! It's gone!"

"Hallelujah!" Sister Ruth, said lifting her arms heavenward as if she was feeling blessings rain down.

By the time, Michaela couldn't take it anymore. As kind as the woman was, she couldn't watch her bring harm to the prisoners. Making a man think he was healed when he couldn't be was taking it too far. "Can I speak to you for a minute, Sister Ruth?"

"Surely."

Outside the tent, she told her flat out. "You can't use faith to heal these people."

"What else do they have right now but faith?"

"That may be true, but it's not particularly helpful. I must insist you stop giving them false hope. It could make them ignore my advice and then they will die."

"God can heal when and where He pleases through whoever He chooses. You heal your way, sister, and let me heal mine."

"Look around. I'd say this is about as god-forsaken a place as you can find on earth. If these men are saved, it'll be by medicine. If God were here healing, they wouldn't be sick in the first place." The seemingly endless disease and her inability to do much was getting to her. The fact that David could be the next to get sick was killing her. "Tell me, Sister Ruth. Where is God in this place?"

She didn't look angry. In fact, she looked sympathetic. "He's here. Let me show you something."

This time she followed Sister Ruth over the flat land and up a small hill to a spring that men were circled around. Some used a boot to dip the water out, others used cloth lined in sediment, or any other items they could find to make a private container from. They seemed intent on not catching one another's sicknesses by not sharing containers. "It's just a spring."

"It wasn't here last week. It's pure, clean water that sprang up after a group of Christian men got together to pray for it without ceasing. And before a week had even passed, God sent rain that turned into a torrent that washed away more filth than you could imagine. Then the men say there was an explosion like a cannon, and a bolt of lightening hit the ground. This crystal water you see here then gushed up. It's been placed just where it needs to be to keep from getting contaminated by the creek. That's why they've named it Providence Spring. Souls have been won for Christ because they witnessed this. It's nothing less than a miracle."

A spring that had bubbled up from nowhere, bringing not just water but hope? It seemed unreal. "I can't believe it." It was a modern day miracle. In much the same way God had brought water to the Israelites when they wandered the desert, He had brought water to these prisoners. She was in awe.

"He's right here in the midst of them, loving them and hoping all will call and turn to Him. Men's free will creates this misery, but the Lord doesn't abandon His people even so."

She found it easy to believe in His presence in the good times like when a baby was born. Why was it so hard in the bad times? She prayed then to feel Him more. "I wish I had your faith."

"Faith doesn't just come to you. It's belief, trust, and loyalty to God above all else. It's at its most simple, obedience to God and His Word. And anyone can have it. If we don't feel close to Him, if we don't feel Him with us, it's us that needs to move closer because His promise is that He'll never forsake us."

She nodded at the mini-sermon, knowing it was all true. "I want to talk to David again."

Sister Ruth took her to the tent, and she went in alone again.

She reached in her pocket and brought out a biscuit with preserves, wrapped in her handkerchief. She presented it to him now.

"What's that?" he asked, staring at the offering with listless eyes.

"Bread. All I could think about last night is how hungry you must be."

He was angry despite his feebleness. "Why should I get more than any of the other men? I don't want it."

"It's because I love you. Isn't that reason enough to take it?" He didn't take it, and she placed it down beside him. "I'd feed everyone if I could, but I can't. What is going hungry going to prove? You need to eat."

He picked up the bread and tossed it against the tent wall. She didn't want to break into tears again in front of him. It would have been too humiliating, so she quickly left instead.

Seeing how upset she was, Sister Ruth decided to pay David a visit this time. His eye was closed and he was breathing as if he were in a deep sleep.

"You playing possum?" she asked.

"Yes," he muttered in a sharp tone that said he didn't want to talk to her.

Sister Ruth didn't let it stop her. "You're hurting her."

His eye snapped open. "I told you not to do this. I told you not to tell her I was alive, but you did it anyway. If she's hurting, it's because of you. She would've gotten over the pain of my death eventually."

"You're trying to play the noble card, but I don't think that's it. You're scared of the future, and your pride ain't helping none either."

"I've turned into an ugly person, and I'm not just talking about my scars. Maybe it is fear. Maybe it is pride. But I've lost my faith. Not just in God but in humanity. Michaela hasn't. She's one of the few truly good people I know. And even if I could walk and didn't need anyone taking care of me, I don't want to practice medicine anymore. I don't want to go back to Boston where the society matrons and gentlemen are as cutthroat as the men in this camp. There is no future for us, and I'm not going to lie to her."

"Do you love her?"

There was a long pause before he answered. "I'll always love her, but sometimes love isn't enough. Not to overcome our obstacles. How can I be a husband to her if I can't walk? I couldn't protect her if need be."

"Love ain't enough sometimes because people don't give it a chance, but you're right about one thing, if you're wallowing in self pity over your legs and all the things you don't have, you'll never be able to see all the things you still do have. And I'm praying you see that in time."

Sister Ruth smiled at Michaela when she came back out, trying to soften her words. "This ain't the time or place for a couple to make plans for the future. Keep finding ways to tell him you love him. Show him you're not going anywhere, and I have a feeling he'll come around."

Which meant she hadn't had any more success than she'd had. She tried not to let her spirits fall and concentrate on the other men who could use her help.

She dispensed medical advice awhile Sister Ruth spiritual advice, and patients did seem the better for it. Perhaps, faith and the science of medicine did actually go hand in hand, two sides of the same coin. The spring had made her reconsider the power of God in everyday life. Like many, she had put the things of God in one category of her life and the things of the world in another, but now she was reexamining the way she saw things.

"You reckon they fixed us anything to eat for supper?" Sister Ruth asked with a wry grin at the end of the day.

"Can Kid cook?"

"Not unless he's been keeping it a secret."

"Sully can cook over an open fire. I don't know about how he is around the kitchen. I certainly can't cook. I'm afraid you're probably the only cook in the house."

"That's okay. I was only teasing. I don't mind cooking in the least. You're in for a treat tonight, sweet potato soup and vinegar pie."

Both were unfamiliar dishes, but she smiled just the same. She was concerned, not over the food, but over her reaction to mentioning Sully. She had realized as she spoke his name that she was eager to see him. The desire shocked and shamed her.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Was there a battle beginning right within her own heart?


	28. Chapter 28

Michaela couldn't sleep. Not when she thought of how miserably David must be sleeping. That's why she heard when the front door opened. She hadn't even undressed this time, having struggled similarly the previous night. She had lain down, but she wasn't under the covers being such a humid night, and so she was able to pop up out of bed and hurry to see who it was.

There were pillow feathers strewn all over the living room floor like some kind of early, indoor snow.

"Where are you going?" she asked the man she now counted as a close friend though the weeks they'd known each other were few.

As he turned to meet her, the reason for his leaving became clear. The wolf pup in his arms could not be domesticated, the bit of green cloth stuck between his teeth from a murdered pillow testified to that. "I have to find him a pack he can run with. I hope to be back by the morning, but I can't be sure. I left a note, but stress to the Coles how much I really do appreciate their hospitality if I don't come back for some reason."

"It's too dangerous."

"I know how to stay hidden. How do you think I got so close to a Confederate camp and all the way to South Carolina and back?"

"I know you can take care of yourself," she allowed. "But I'll worry about you all the while you're gone. And I'm tired of worrying. About David. About the war. About everything."

"Worry doesn't change things."

No, it didn't, but there were things you could do to combat it. She wouldn't worry about his not being in the house so much if she was with him. "Well, then. I'm going with you. If we're spotted, people won't be thinking deserter if they see a man and woman together."

"It's a bad idea. As you said yourself, it could be dangerous and you'll only slow me down."

"I can keep up. Please. It'll get my mind off David if I have something to do. As you can see, I wasn't sleeping."

He didn't seem to like it, but he nodded his agreement, and she added to his note that she was going, too.

She followed him into the woods. It was a good night for the task. The moon was full and the sky clear, casting enough light that it wasn't hard to see at all.

Sully was quiet, but it was a nice quiet, a companionable quiet. She liked the fact that when he did speak, it was always something worth hearing

They'd been walking for at least an hour when he suddenly crouched down. "Wolf track." Then he actually howled, sending shivers up and down her spine. It was a good imitation. The nearby wolf pack must have thought so too for a wolf or two responded to his human howl.

They followed the sound until they got close to the pack. "We're downwind, so they shouldn't smell us or notice us as long as we're quiet," Sully warned in a whisper. Setting the lost cub down, they hid behind trees and watched.

The wolf pup started to howl and soon the cubs from the pack surrounded it, howling with it, their scents mingling with his as they brushed against him. They were friendly and welcoming and when one of the adult wolves came over to them with food in its jaws, the pack seemed accepting of the newest addition if it even observed there was one more cub.

They stayed there watching for quite some time as the packed worked to care for the youngest members, the wolves communicating it seemed by their howls and barks and growls. 

She could have watched all night, but Sully nudged her, signaling they should leave.

"That was amazing," she said, after they were far away. "I never realized they were such social animals. They're like one big family."

"As far as I can tell, they usually are. The cubs grow up and stay with the pack until they're ready to go start packs of their own."

"Do they always accept new wolves like that?"

"Not always. Sometimes they're killed or abandoned, but the younger the wolf is the better the chance. We were lucky or the pup was. We'll be back before sunrise for sure."

In a way, she was sorry it hadn't taken longer. She enjoyed being with him, and she was very grateful to him for all he'd done. That didn't constitute love or even the beginnings of love. She argued all this with herself silently, and she wondered exactly who she was out to convince.

sss

Even though she hadn't slept but an hour, she had to go to Andersonville again. This could be the day David talked to her. Really talked to her. They had shared the same heart and mind for so long. Why was he now treating her like a stranger? Worse than a stranger.

In fact, anger was starting to mix into the sadness she felt. He'd told her that he believed in the equality of the sexes. Why then did he feel the need to shelter her from what he was going through? If their roles had been reversed, she knew he wouldn't abandon her through her sickness and pain.

Kid went with her this time. Though she planned on helping the men like last time, at least as much as they could be helped with no medicine, she went to see David first.

But there was a new man in the tent. With a quick apology, she came out, full of confusion. Had they moved him, or worse, was he dead? Given the fact he couldn't move, they couldn't have possibly released him from the hospital such as it was.

She thought she knew where his tent was, this being the third time coming to it, but possibly she was wrong. However, a quick look around proved to her she hadn't been mistaken.

"Don't think the worst until you know the facts," Kid said, seeing her distress.

"How can I not think the worst?" she replied, the panic in her voice raising her volume.

Father Whelan was nearby and must have seen her distress for he hurried over. "He only changed tents, and he requested that his new location not be given."

"I see," she said. He was determined not to see her. Perhaps she did need to back off for a little while. "Can you do something for me? Check on him daily and if anything changes, let me know. I'll be here as many days as I can be."

"Of course, my child. I'll be happy to," the kindly priest said.

When Father Whelan left them to continue about his work, Kid said, "Maybe you should consider going home to Boston. You'd be safer, and I know that's what David wants. There's nothing you can do here."

"There's more work than there are workers. I want to be here at Andersonville, helping. And leave David? I can't do that."

"What if he never changes his mind? Have you thought about that? What are you going to do with yourself?" He had one of those gazes that seemed to see everything, her feelings for David and her burgeoning feelings for Sully. It was discomforting even if she knew it couldn't possibly be true.

"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. Return to Boston, I suppose, and try to go on with my life the best that I can."

"Hmm," was his only reply.

Which bothered her. If Sister Ruth were here, now was the part where she would have given advice and told her exactly what was on her mind. He was obviously thinking something, but he wasn't quick with sharing it. "You think it'd be easy for me to move on?"

"No. I think it'd be one of the hardest things you ever had to do. I've only loved a woman once in my life, and I can't even imagine the pain I would've gone through had she said no to my proposal. To be honest, I would've probably kept trying till I wore her down, but some people can't be worn down. And if they can't, maybe it wasn't meant to be, as hard as that is to accept."

His words weren't untrue, but they were words she wasn't ready to hear.

She incorporated silent prayer into her examinations as she went around to the tents with Kid, halfway hoping David would be in one of them. Mostly she prayed that God would give her the wisdom in treating them and that the patient would receive healing. It might have been as big a miracle as the spring. It hadn't ever been something she'd done before, but she liked it, and she felt the better doctor for it.

sss

It was the beginning of September with no cool weather to signal fall was close. Sister Ruth and Kid Cole sat on the front porch, enjoying a rare moment of quiet and occasionally reaching out to take each other's hands when their rockers stilled.

"Did you hear the news?" There was no celebrating or rejoicing in the neighbor woman's demeanor, which meant she was the bearer of bad news.

"No, sister. What news?" Ruth asked.

"Sherman just took Atlanta."

The general with pyromaniac tendencies had finally made it to Georgia. Neither Kid nor Ruth were terribly surprised, but it was a sobering comment nonetheless.

"No reason to fret," Sister Ruth said finally, gathering what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Just a reason to pray even more than we have been. For the Lord's will to be done."

The gray-headed woman frowned that frown that said she thought Sister Ruth was as crazy as a Junebug before wishing them a goodbye.

She spoke her more worrisome thoughts to Kid when alone. "Oh, Lord in heaven. Have mercy on us all. I meant what I said, but I'm not sure I'm ready to get burned out of this house even if it ain't really our house. Do you think Savannah's on his list?"

"Without a doubt," Kid said even more somber than usual. "He'll probably be here before Christmas."


	29. Chapter 29

Winter came and though the days were mild, often in the mid to upper sixties, the nights could be cold and some of the men in Andersonville did freeze to death for lack of clothing, blankets, and shelter. To Michaela's great relief, David hadn't yet been one of them.

It had been awhile since she had seen David, Father Whelan continued to give her reports of him though. She was sure David would change his mind once he was away from his dreary environment, where the sunniest person ever born would forget what hope and a future might feel like.

She'd held hope that Sherman might free the prisoners on his march through Georgia, might free David, but Sherman's objective was to win. Dividing his troops to bring back sick men to care for wouldn't help the Union win. And he'd went right on by them.

Kid's prediction turned out to be true. Sherman was in Savannah by December. The old city was crawling with Confederates set to defend it, around ten thousand men, and today marked the thirteenth week she'd spent with the Coles and the first day of the siege.

Her parents had no way of getting money to her to replace what had been stolen. So she had done as she'd said and sold off two of the dresses in her trunk. She counted the confederate bills in her possession. She held back enough to cover the train back to Boston when the time came, but she wanted to give some to her hosts. Sully snuck into the night at times and game back with food he'd caught or gathered. His pickings were kind of scarce though of late, since winter had come, but even he had contributed to the household. She, on the other hand, felt like a leech.

She caught Sister Ruth alone in the kitchen and pressed the paper money into her hand. The older woman acted as if she hadn't ever seen the like before. Though in truth, it had probably been awhile since she'd so much at one time. "What's this?"

"Money. I want to help out with household expenses."

"Honey, ain't none of us starving. It's our pleasure to have you with us, and you do so much for the sick and suffering, especially at the prison camp. That's your payment for staying with us."

"But it doesn't help you or Kid Cole. Please, take it. It would mean so much to me if you did."

She reluctantly tucked it into her pocket. "We'll use it for the boys at Andersonville. We've got a roof over our head and food in our bellies. We've more than we need by comparison."

She was glad it would help the prisoners, but it didn't keep her from being a burden in the house. Sister Ruth was busy with the dishes, but the floor looked like it needed sweeping. The ash in the fireplace had scattered and Kid had tracked in dirt when he'd brought in wood. Sister Ruth was about the busiest person she'd ever seen between the housework and the charity work she did. Real charity. Not charity like her mother and sisters did where they attended a ball and threw a little money around. Real charity that had her physically laboring, whether it was sewing or cleaning the blood and grime off a dirty soldier.

"At least let me help out in other ways." She picked up the broom that leaned against the corner. "I'll sweep in here for you."

"I wouldn't say no to help."

Grateful she'd found a way to show her appreciation, she began attacking the floor with vigor. A little too much vigor as her thatched broom went into the ash pile and sent up a cloud of dust that set her and Sister Ruth to coughing as hard as Kid did sometimes.

"You ever swept?" Ruth asked when she got her breath again.

Her cheeks reddened. It wasn't much of a question given the performance she'd just gave, and she already knew of her privileged background. She was just being polite. "No."

"Nothing to be ashamed about. It's got to be learned like anything else in life. You know a whole heap of things I'll never know. And if I'd had servants, I don't reckon I'd be much for cleaning either."

She doubted that. Sister Ruth was the kind of person who would have been working along side her servants because of her compassionate heart and strong work ethic. But it was true that Michaela could learn and she really wanted to like she never had before.

She watched closely as Sister Ruth demonstrated how to use the broom and wondered if she even wanted to try helping out with the cooking. She'd watched her cook, not going by any measurements but just slapping flour and spices around until she had something delicious like it was more art than science. She didn't see herself doing that anytime soon.

"And we'll have you cooking before long," she added as if she could hear those unspoken thoughts. "Never know when you'll need to feed yourself. It's a skill worth having."

Sister Ruth looked happy to be able to pass what she'd learned on as she might have done had she had a daughter, and Michaela couldn't say no. Besides, she was quite right. You never know when you might need to feed yourself.

sss

Michaela heard Sully treading around in the living room that night. Not unusual in itself as he did often used the night to get fresh air and provisions, but though she couldn't put a finger on why, she heard something different in his step this time.

Deciding to see why, she found him signing off on a note, and she knew. Knew he'd almost slipped off without telling anybody. "You're not thinking of leaving now, are you? There's more soldiers than there's ever been."

"There's no better time. The rebels are occupied now with keeping Sherman's troops out. Sherman's occupied with getting in, and there's nothing like the cover of night to cloak a person. I-I can't stay here anymore." He looked at her with meaning as if she were the reason he couldn't. As if she'd been some secret kind of torture while he'd been here.

Confusing feelings started swirling inside her in her. Feelings like sadness, loneliness, and a tight squeezing in her chest. "You're going back to Colorado then?"

"That is my home."

He'd told her stories, well not just her, he'd told Kid Cole and Sister Ruth, too, but late in the evening just before bed he'd spun stories of the land and the people that lived there. She felt like she knew his Indian friend, Cloud Dancing, who spoke English, and Cloud Dancing's wife, Snow Bird, along with the compassionate and wise Chief Black Kettle. Sully had spoken of a desire to go live with them and learn their language and culture. She was even amused by tales of his cranky father-in-law and the colorful saloon keeper. "I'd like to see Colorado one day."

"Then come with me. No reason it can't be today."

"You know I can't."

He hesitated like there was a war going on inside him, and he said something he hadn't intended on saying. "I think I'm falling in love with you. I didn't want to. I'm still not sure I do. And I can't promise anything right now. There's some things I have to work through, but if you come with me to Colorado, we can figure them out together. If you stay here or in Boston, we'll never know what might have been."

Confronted with the reality of his feelings, she didn't know what to say. Maybe she did feel something, too, in fact, she was sure she did, but she couldn't act on those feelings. Not when she was engaged to another man. The promise she'd made still meant something to her even if it didn't to David. She might learn to love Sully, but she loved David now. "I have commitments. I can't go based on what might be."

"I'm learning to let Abigail go. It's not easy. She was a part of me for so long, and I loved her so much, but she'd not with me anymore. She's with our baby, and I know she would want me to love again. They can never be replaced, but I can make room in my heart for new love. What you have to do is to let go of David in the same way."

"But it's not the same thing."

"Ain't it?"

"David's alive. Are you saying if Abigail was still alive, you wouldn't choose her?"

"Course I would. We were married, but David's not your husband, and he's not the same man he was before the war."

"I-I don't know."

"Seems to me you've a choice to make just like Hardee," he said, referring to the general that protected Savannah at the moment. "Do you stay and fight a losing battle? Or do you run towards a new maybe better future? But I'd never try to make you do something you don't want to do. If you ever change your mind, you know where I live." And then he was gone. He was so quiet in his leaving, going into some kind of stealth mode, she wouldn't have known he was gone if she hadn't seen it. She was thankful because that meant he had a good chance at not getting caught.

And Michaela went back to a cold, empty bed where she pleaded with God to know her future. Even a hint would have done, but of course, He was silent. Perhaps it was just as well she didn't know the future or she never would have had the courage to face the next chapter of her life.


	30. Chapter 30

Harden did run, leaving the city undefended, and Sherman took Savannah just before Christmas. Folks had thought he would burn the city like he had everywhere else, but he didn't. Kid teased that it was Sister Ruth's prayers. That every time the general lit a match, God snuffed it out because of her seemingly ceaseless praying. Whatever the reason, the beautiful oaks covered in moss still stood proud against the river and so did the grand, old buildings.

Christmas came and went. It had been the simplest celebration Michaela had ever had except maybe the Christmas she'd spent at the hospital, but she'd enjoyed it all the more for it. They'd celebrated with a feral hog Kid had managed to catch, the only present given, they'd sang carols to Kid's guitar, played words games, and Sister Ruth had read the Christmas story. She had missed listening to her father reading _A Christmas Carol_ and just being with her family in general, but there'd be other Christmases.

Sherman had moved on towards the Carolinas, leaving a number of Union soldiers behind to occupy. The occupation smarted to southern morale. It shut off one of the few remaining ports in the Confederacy. They had taken over vital supplies, and Union soldiers made their presence known on the streets. Michaela, however was happy and cheered by the all the blue uniforms. They proved themselves respectful despite the Southern ladies' fears, and she had a feeling the war was finally close to being over.

It was January now. Colder than ever. The number of prisoners in Andersonville had dwindled down to a mere 5,000 due to transference to other prisons and the worst conditions appeared to be behind them. David was not one of the ones transferred, and so she stayed as she would until he was released to go home.

She was helping the sick in Andersonville this particular morning like most mornings. The men were out of their tents at the moment, lined up for roll call. She'd come alone, but she didn't mind. She'd gotten used to the camp, and Kid didn't do well in this weather. Sister Ruth was busy raising funds for the prisoners.

The hospital tent she went into was empty, but she planned to wait for the patient to return. She noticed a picture was tacked on to the tent wall, of her. This was David's tent. It had been drawn on a corner of a newspaper. Even that little piece had probably been costly as newspaper could be used to help warm, but the drawing was exquisite.

She opened David's pocket watch that she still carried with her. The photo inside the watch and the drawing were a perfect match. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn, he'd had it in front of him when he drew it. When had he developed artistry skills? But then what else did he have to do immobile as he was? Just one more way he had changed from the man she once knew.

As frequently as she came to Andersonville, it was bound to happen that she would stumble across his tent. She was turning to go when the Confederate sergeant of his division carried him in. David spoke not a word, but he didn't look happy to see her.

"Ma'am," the sergeant said, tipping his hat and leaving once David was back in his bedding.

"I didn't mean to come in here. I didn't know it was yours."

He nodded. "Nothing stopping you from leaving."

How could he say that? When that picture he'd drawn proved he still thought of her. Still loved her. "And nothing stopping you from letting me stay except your pride."

"You're in love with someone else," he pronounced.

She gasped. It was the last thing she expected him to say. Was it written on her person?

"I know you too well," he said with a bitter smile. "I am truly glad. It's what I wanted for you all along to fall in love with a whole man. Is he a good person?"

Michaela felt like pulling her hair and screaming. It was the thought that the only thing keeping them apart was the uselessness of his legs. "He is. I would still marry you if you asked."

"I know, but I won't." He looked at her picture. "I love you, but I couldn't be a husband to you the way that I want to be. You have to accept that."

"And if you suddenly regained use of your legs?"

"You'd be as free on that day as you are today. I don't expect you to wait for what might never be. This is what I want. I hope you can understand that. I need you to move on. To be happy. That's what would give me peace right now."

Spoken to her gently, she did understand. It was almost like forces were working to keep them apart. She didn't know yet if they were pushing her towards Sully, but they were pushing her away from David. They both felt it. "I'll always love you," she said barely able to see him through the partial blindness caused by her tears.

"I think we could have been happy together if not for this war, but you can't build a life on what-might-have-beens."

"No, you can't. Goodbye, David." Sunlight blinded her as she came out, but she barely noticed. She felt as if she'd lost her best friend. If she'd married David that's what it would have been, a marriage of friends. They were so like-minded. Sully, on the other hand, was a risk, but a risk she was willing to take. She had a feeling she'd see Colorado yet.

Not sure she was going to be able to work with her personal life shattered, she decided to return to the house. It was the first time she truly believed she and David were a thing of the past and that was bound to effect her demeanor, and the last thing the prisoners needed was more hopelessness.

She wasn't yet out the gate, when she witnessed the punishment of one of the prisoners. Half his head had been shaved and he was receiving lashings, the harsh penalty for any man caught stealing. Though she knew David would die before doing something as low as stealing from another prisoner, she couldn't help picturing him in his place.

She still couldn't abandon him to go chase after her own wants while he lay bone-thin and paralyzed here in Georgia underneath the whims of the enemy. Sully would have to wait, and she would have to hope that he would wait on her till the end of this war whenever that would be.


	31. Chapter 31

Winter became spring and on the morning of April 10, 1865, the sound of church bells pealed through the morning air, awakening most of Savannah. They were either under attack or something of tremendous importance had happened, Michaela realized.

Throwing her clothes on in less time than she would have thought possible without Martha's help, she rushed out to discover why the bells were ringing.

Passing through the kitchen, she went by a bowl of peaches and her stomach growled at the sight of them. She grabbed one of the fuzzy peaches, the first of the season, a gift from neighbor who had been to Florida to visit family members with a peach orchard.

"Lee surrenders," one of the newsboys was shouting on the corner, who was too young for war but need a living to either help out his family or to survive on the streets. She paid for the paper and tipped him, but he looked much too thin for a boy of his age. She could also see he had a fierce pride as he lifted his chin under her scrutiny that warned her against offering anything more than the usual tip.

"I don't think I could eat after news like this. You wouldn't want this peach, would you? Before I toss it out."

The hungry way he stared at it proved he did want it. "Well, if you're just going to throw it out, I suppose I could take it," he conceded at last, slower than his southern drawl.

As the losing side, the citizens of Savannah weren't rejoicing, but there was a collective sigh of relief at the prospect of peace felt by many. No doubt there was a bigger and more patriotic celebration going on in Boston, but there was probably a somberness there too as people remembered all the lives sacrificed to end this war.

She worried a little about how the Coles would react about the North winning. Kid was after all a Confederate soldier and Sister Ruth was a Confederate nurse, who had reason to be bitter for the burning of her aunt and uncle's home. In fact, rumor had it that Union soldiers had been responsible for some fires that had taken place in Savannah late that January. Fortunately, their section of town hadn't been touched.

They had both gotten up and dressed as well. They stood waiting as she came through the door. "It's over. Lee has surrendered."

Sister Ruth lifted a hand in praise of the Father. "Thank you, Jesus."

Kid was quieter, reading the paper Michaela had given him, but he said at last. "Lee's a brave, intelligent man. He know when it's time to lay down arms." He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with his guitar.

"Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;  
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;  
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.  
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

Song was such a natural way to celebrate in the Cole household. And it seemed a perfect way to celebrate the end of all the fighting and bloodshed.

"O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,  
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,  
And win with them the victor's crown of gold.  
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

She wondered if Kid regretted fighting as a soldier. It was possible it had played a part in his contracting consumption, but his reason for fighting had been noble. He'd fought to save his nephew. He'd followed his conscience, and he couldn't regret that. As Sister Ruth would say, not a sparrow fell to the ground apart from the Father. Not a man fell to the ground either. God knew the name of every man lost on both sides, and He would be with those that would have scars from it for some time to come if they called upon Him.

"For the Evangelists, by whose blest word,  
Like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord,  
Is fair and fruitful, be Thy Name adored.  
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

Kid was looking at Sister Ruth with such love as he sang that verse for her. Her heart hungered for a love like that. Her heart hungered for a man with golden brown locks and blue eyes that penetrated the soul without speaking a word.

"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,  
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,  
And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong.  
Alleluia, Alleluia!"

"Amen," Sister Ruth said when he'd finished. "We can never forget Who ultimately triumphs over war itself. I still can't believe this war's finally over."

"In some ways, it's just beginning," Kid prophesied. "There's going to be hard feelings over this for a long time to come between the North and South, between blacks and whites. We should continue our prayers for peace."

Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong, but at least peace had been found under this roof as she had formed an unlikely friendship with the Coles. "I think I'm going to step outside for a minute. Listen to the bells."

They didn't follow her, sensing she needed the time to herself. She had come to enjoy the porch. There was nothing like watching a fine spring rain as one sat in a rocking chair. She would miss that when she returned to Boston. Porches should come with every house.

She supposed David would be released now. Perhaps, she could convince him to return with her to see his parents. She had to. They needed him, and he needed them. It would be downright cruel for him not to let them know that he was okay, at least as okay as he could be sustaining the injuries he had.

Her mind turned again to Sully. She hadn't seen or heard from him since he'd left. She hadn't expected to, the mail and travel being what it was since the country had split into two, but she couldn't help wondering if he ever thought of her and if he had made it safely back. She would travel to Colorado to find out after she got David to Boston and visited with her parents. But how her heart ached to be elsewhere this very minute, to be with Sully.

In the distance, she saw a man with shoulder-length hair, dressed in buckskins. He was a peculiar sight for the city of Savannah like Davy Crockett returned to life and youth. She didn't recognize him until he was close enough to make out his features. And her heart rejoiced even more than it had at the news of the war's end. Her own heart had been involved in a battle, in a war, and now it appeared victory was nigh.

"Sully!" She didn't know she was running to him until she fell into his open arms.


	32. Chapter 32

"How did you know? How did you know the war was going to be over?" Michaela asked when she'd regained the ability to think and not just feel overwhelmingly happy.

Sully smiled. "I couldn't have known. I just knew I didn't want to be apart from you a moment longer."

"Is this what you wore before the war?"

"No, but I've been friends with the Cheyenne for quite awhile. I've long admired their way of life. I spent time with them when I got back, and it was a peaceful escape, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. I had to come back, but I brought the clothes they gave me with me. Besides that, I find them very comfortable."

She smiled. "Well, it suits you." Losing her smile, she told him, "You know I can't go back to Colorado with you, not right away. I haven't seen my parents for some time, and they'll want to see me before I go."

"I'd like to meet your parents," he said.

She smiled again. How nice it would be to return to Boston with Sully. "You'll love my father. I know you two will become fast friends."

If he noticed she didn't say anything about her mother, he didn't say. She didn't know what Elizabeth Quinn would say to his long hair and buckskins or to her broken engagement to David though it was no fault of her own. Her mother also would not be crazy about how following Sully meant going halfway across the country, but it felt right.

sss

The sight of her former fiancé still pained her due to the way Andersonville had ravaged his body. She had to remind herself that his health would return as his diet improved. He would gain weight again.

Michaela had talked to a local doctor, who'd gotten a hold of a wheelchair for her. She pushed David now over the rough terrain and was unable to keep him from bumping and bouncing in it. The world was not an easy place for a man in a wheelchair to navigate. No one ever thought of them when building steps or when putting counters or shelves in stores too high. He would have to have a companion to help him through daily tasks that most people took for granted.

"I'm so sorry," she said, never fully realizing before what life must be like for a person confined to a chair. The loss of independence must chaff to a man of David's nature. Why did the world seem to forget about the disabled when accommodations might be so simple in some cases?

"I'll have to get used to it," he said, his sour tone revealing he'd thought about what it meant for his life long before she had.

"Do you? Do you have to get used to it?" Sister Ruth asked.

Michaela had invited her to come because she needed her presence to make the situation as little awkward as possible, but she hadn't expected her to try faith healing on David.

She sensed David wanted to roll his eyes. Something Michaela herself would have done before she witnessed the work accomplished in Andersonville by mere faith.

"I do," he replied. "If God exists, He's a cruel master who doesn't hear the cries of His children." So many men calling out to Him on the operating table only to have their eyes go vacant. Mothers and wives whose many hours of prayers had turned out to be fruitless and worth less than all the paper money of the fallen Confederacy. "But the truth is I don't believe He does. I think it more probable that life came about by mere chance."

"Have your eyes ever overflown with tears day and night without ceasing? God's has; it says so in Jeremiah, and the reason was the sadness He felt for His children. He feels our grief and pain here and intervened by coming to Earth to right the problem and experience those things Himself. This life is but a drop in the bucket in the greatness of eternity, and yet He's close to the brokenhearted, noting every tear." She didn't wait for his response. Sister Ruth closed her eyes and prayed. "My brother has lost his faith in You, but You, oh, Lord and Ruler of all can still heal. Show this day mercy to Brother David. Allow him to walk again."

He looked up in astoundment. He could feel prickling in his legs. It just wasn't possible. It was a trick of the mind. She made her living tricking people into thinking they'd been healed. He'd stopped factoring God into his figuring of the world a long time ago, and even if He existed on some level, why then would He care enough to grant him this now?

He pinched his leg and actually felt pain, which gave him the courage to try standing. Sister Ruth and Michaela were at his side immediately, supporting him by the arms, and he took his first step and then another and then another until they let him try to take a step all on his own.

He was doing it. He couldn't quite believe it. His steps were like those of a newborn calf, but he was walking when he hadn't walked in almost three years. It was a miracle.

He looked skyward, and he wept, wept for the real Andrew Strauss, and the many like him, and for the weight of the Creator's love threatening to flood him inside. He hadn't been abandoned by those he'd been reluctant to call friends and certainly not by his Lord. He still didn't have all the answers as to why the atrocity of the war had to happen though good had come from it through the freeing of the slaves, but maybe no one ever did find all the answers this side of heaven.

He looked and saw that Sister Ruth and Michaela were weeping with him. And he wasn't ashamed to cry with them. Sometimes it was the only thing left to do, and they weren't hopeless tears. Far from it.

sss

Sister Ruth and Kid Cole were seeing off Michaela, Sully, and David at the train station.

"Certainly we'll keep in touch," Sister Ruth said to Michaela with her warm, sunny smile. "And we'll expect ya'll to do the same. Might even make it to Colorado one of these days."

Michaela smiled happily. She'd almost forgotten that despite their southern roots, the Coles were really from the West.

"A pretty, young doctor recommended a warm, dry climate to me, and Georgia may be warm, but it ain't dry," Kid added.

"It is your best chance until a cure's developed," Michaela said, expounding on her earlier advice.

"I've heard it's very beautiful country. I might want to go there myself one day to sketch and study the land. The West, not Colorado," David said, looking to Sully and Michaela, lest they think he meant to follow them. "You'll both understand if I want to ride in another compartment?"

"Of course. You're making the right choice to return to Boston," Michaela counseled. "You will bring your parents unspeakable joy. Maybe with time you'll even want to practice medicine again."

"I don't think so," he replied.

She tried to return his ring to him, but he shook his head. "Keep it to remember me by."

"I don't need a ring for that," she said, but she pocketed it just the same. "You'll always be dear to my heart, and God will bless you, David, wherever and whatever you decide to do."

Sully didn't seem to mind the fact that there was a parting embrace and could even understand it because of his own lost love.

The final call was given for them to board. Sister Ruth watched as David got onto the train. There was still a sad air to him in part because of Michaela but also because of all that had happened to him. Maybe he even felt a little guilt that so many of his comrades in arms had died and he was still here against incredible odds. That the Lord had favored him with miraculous healing. They said it took courage for all those soldiers to die, and it had. Sometimes though it took more courage for those who hadn't to live.

The End

_"What a cruel thing is war; to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbours, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world!_

_The truth is this: The march of Providence is so slow, and our desires so impatient; the work of progress is so immense and our means of aiding it so feeble; the life of humanity is so long, that of the individual so brief, that we often see only the ebb of the advancing wave and are thus discouraged. It is history that teaches us to hope_."

-General Robert E. Lee


End file.
